Heir to the Weasley Throne
by xayne
Summary: [AU] In Harry's sixth year, he begins preparing for Voldemort in earnest. He finds escape in the form of a competition hosted by the Weasley twins to crown the best prankster at Hogwarts, and comfort in the arms of an unexpected girl.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I am not JKR, I don't own anything of value, unless you count a neat little ice-scoop in the shape of a penguin. I certainly don't own JKR's characters. I am not making any money from this fic – hopefully I am learning something.**

"Merlin's Beard, Ginny!" Ronald Weasley exclaimed with a strained voice. It was evident that he was trying to sound jubilant, but the panic was painfully obvious. "Who'd you knick this from?" In his hands, he held a thick, gray and green scarf.

Virginia Weasley looked back at her older brother in horror. Her cheeks, normally pale, had flushed a sickly hue of red. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sounds came out.

"Come on, Gin," Ron went on pathetically, his voice insistent. "Let us in on the joke!"

Hermione Granger, de facto mother of the Gryffindor family, tried to intervene. "Oh, lay off it, Ron," she said hastily. "If she's up to some pranking, she's not going to let on now, is she?"

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, looked on in horror at the scene unfolding in front of him. It was something like watching a car wreck, he thought idly. It was horrible to see; heartrending and tragic, but somehow he could not take his eyes away from it. Ten minutes earlier, he had been sitting by the fire in the Common Room, studiously avoiding his History of Magic essay. Ron and Hermione, his best friends in the world, had been rehashing the age-old argument; Ron wanted to use her notes, and Hermione was sticking to her ethical guns. It was a Friday night in the early part of their sixth year, and Hermione's nagging was getting progressively more insistent as the year went on. They were interrupted from this by the arrival of Ginny and the Colin Creevey, returning late from the library.

"Hey, there, guys," Hermione called out, summoning the weary fifth-years over to the fireside. "What's going on?"

Ginny walked over to the fire, and stood beside their couch. She merely glared at Hermione in answer.

"OWLS?" Harry guessed, giving a knowing glance to his best friends.

"I don't remember you guys having this hard a time of it," Ginny said darkly.

Harry laughed heartily. "Yeah, they never seem so bad until you're actually taking them."

"Why don't you join us?" Ron invited, gesturing to the couch nearest them. "Take a load off."

"Can't," Colin intoned breathlessly.

"We still have a lot of work to do," Ginny supplied. "If it isn't OWL preparations, it's Trelawney's dream diary, or some nasty assignment for Snape."

"I admire your efforts," Hermione said, her voice brimming with obvious and misplaced pride.

"Thanks," Colin said glumly.

"Surely you have a couple of minutes to spare?" Ron inquired, patting the seat next to him encouragingly.

Hermione shot him a look of something distinctly like anger.

"I think," Harry spoke up. "That a few minutes of relaxation could only serve to rejuvenate your efforts. With a little bit of rest, you can hit your studies again with renewed fervor."

""Kay," Colin sighed, evidently only capable of single syllables. He dropped his book sack to the hearth floor, where it landed with a deep thud. He plopped down on the couch and immediately gave a sigh of relief.

Ginny hesitated; then she dropped her own bag in suit. However, any opportunity for relaxation was dashed when the side of her bag tore loose, spilling her quills, parchment, books, and a narrow strip of gray and green fabric. "Oh no-" Ginny cried, the note of terror in her voice unmistakable.

It was inevitable that Ron would want to have a closer look; inevitable that he would recognize the significance of Ginny carrying a Slytherin scarf in secret; and inevitable that he would do anything not to accept that reality. 

Ron waved off Hermione's intrusion with a tremulous hand. "Ginny, why do you have this?" he asked imploringly. He was shaking perceptibly, his eyes locked on his sister's.

Colin chose the worst possible way to intercede. "She's not a little kid any more, Ron!" he blurted out passionately, sitting upright in his seat. "She can date whoever she wants, from whatever house! She-"

Ron turned on Colin with a furious look. Harry might have imagined it, but he thought Ron was going for his wand. "You… know about this? Who is she dating?" he asked, his voice deadly serious.

The next moment was choked by a terrible silence. Colin had rushed to the defense of Ginny, but now his righteous indignation was quailing under the burning rage in Ron's eyes.

"Ron, I…" Ginny started, and Harry realized suddenly that she was crying.

"Colin," Ron pronounced in a grave tone, as if he had not heard her. "I asked Colin a question."

Colin opened his mouth to say something, but whatever words he might have said were cut short by Ginny, who took the only recourse available to her at the time. She turned on her heel, and ran out of the portrait hole as quickly as she was capable. She left behind her torn bag, her books, and the contraband scarf.

Ron stared mutely after her, too stunned to speak.

"Some brother you are," Colin hissed and gathered up his things. He left quickly for his own dormitory. It was evident to all present that his continued presence would only lead to a severe hexing.

"I'm going to talk to her," Hermione said in a sigh. "Good night," she called over her shoulder, heading to the portrait hole.

Harry and Ron were left alone by the fireside in a state of deep puzzlement. "Now, what on earth-" Ron attempted, but that was as far as he got.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning was not a pleasant experience. The meal was tense enough on its own accord, being the day of the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match. Harry felt the familiar queasiness in his stomach, which had become habitual at game time. Ron, however, seemed oblivious to the prospect of a game.

Ginny did not come down for the meal at all, and Hermione had precious little to tell about her. Colin came in late, and took a seat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, putting as much distance between himself and Ron as he could. He sat huddled in a group of other fifth years, as if looking for safety in numbers. Harry watched him curiously – the youth leaned low over the table and engaged in serious conversation with his younger brother Dennis.

"Oh, Ron, just drop it, would you?" Hermione said at last, breaking the silence.

Ron did not seem to hear. Normally, he would have put away several full meals by this time, but today he was only halfway through his first serving. He craned his head away from his neglected eggs, peering intently at the Slytherin table. "That third year isn't wearing a scarf," he said lowly.

"Many of them aren't," Harry commented. "I don't imagine they wear them everyday."

"Pity," Ron muttered. He shoveled a heap of bacon into his mouth. "Otherwise," he went on, chewing thoughtfully, "We could pick out the culprit right away."

"Culprit?" Hermione exclaimed. "Ron!"

Harry was not sure if Ron even heard her. If the redhead were ignoring Hermione, he was doing a remarkable job of it. "Goyle's not wearing a scarf either," he added disgustedly. "I hope she has better taste than that."

"RON!" Hermione shrieked loudly.

He turned to look at her in wonder, as if only then noticing her presence. "What?" he snapped.

Hermione looked at him a moment silently, her face displaying flickering emotions. Finally, her hard features softened and she spoke sensitively. "Well, Ron, I know you don't want to hear it, but I think Colin may be right."

In Ron's right hand a boat of maple syrup hung, poised over his eggs. A thin trail of syrup began pouring down over his scrambled poultry, but he did not seem to notice. "How's that?" he asked, as if he had not heard her quite plainly.

"I think Colin was right," Hermione repeated. "Ginny should be able to make her own decisions about who she dates."

Harry was tempted to slide under the table to avoid whatever projectile Ron decided to launch, but to his immense relief, his friend answered with words. "Are you nutters?" he asked simply.

Hermione was obviously trying very hard not to get angry.

"Hermione," Ron went on, a tone of desperation creeping into his voice. "She's dating a, well, a _Slytherin."_ He pronounced this last word very quietly, clearly hoping not to be overheard, and only after looking over both of his shoulders.

Hermione was a moment in answering. She scanned the Slytherin table with a philosophical look in her eyes. "I know that they are our big rivals, and many of them are real pricks; it's true. But we don't know everyone in the house, do we? I mean, you don't have to assume the worst. For all we know, she's found a very nice, sweet boy to date in the Slytherin House."  
            "In Slytherin?" Ron echoed hollowly.

"That's what I said," Hermione replied.

"Have you met any Slytherins?" he asked incredulously.

Harry maintained his laconic observation of the event. He'd had very little to say on the topic the whole night, being somewhat baffled by the circumstances. He felt rather divided by the issue. He knew that Colin and Hermione were right; Ginny was old enough and mature enough to handle herself. At the same time, the notion of her dating a Slytherin made him unaccountably uneasy.

"Come on, mate," Harry said at last. "It's time."  
            Ron looked up from his syrup-coated eggs in confusion. "Oh god," he breathed, realization dawning on him. "It's a game day."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harry urged his broom upward in a burst of speed that caught Draco Malfoy completely by surprise. The Quidditch pitch faded quickly below as he rushed upwards, the handle of his broom vibrating slightly under the strain. Harry did not have to look over his shoulder to know that his green-clad rival was giving quick pursuit. Lucious Malfoy, father of the Slytherin Seeker and Captain, had been generous enough to purchase sleek, new Firebolt 2.0 brooms for the entire team. Harry's broom, from the original Firebolt series, was not as fast, but he was not the only one who thought he had the advantage of flying skill in this match up.

Harry leveled out his broom suddenly, and laughed a little as Draco rocketed past him into the clouds above. If he tried hard enough, he could use Draco's own speed against him. He made a giant, graceful arc over the north goal hoop, using the moment of solidarity to look for the Golden Snitch in earnest. He sighed resignedly; there was no sign of the tiny fluttering ball. Nor, in fact, had there been any sight of it in the past six hours that this Quidditch match dragged on. At the last time out, the score was tied at forty, which was remarkably low. Ron had blossomed into an excellent keeper this season, and had not allowed a single score in the season opener against Hufflepuff. Regrettably, his skills as keeper were matched only by the incompetence of the Gryffindor chasers, a position that had been severely depleted by graduations the year before.

"Get over it, scar head," a cool voice sounded from behind him, startling him a little. "You don't have a chance of catching the snitch while I'm here."

Harry did not look behind him, but maintained his vigil on the pitch below, scanning furiously with his eyes. "Somehow, Malfoy," he remarked dryly, "I don't think your broom is going to make that great a difference. It is curious to say that I don't have a chance when you've never beaten me to the snitch yet."

Draco appeared at Harry's left elbow, smirking slightly, the dim sunlight glinting off his greased hair. "I daresay, Potter, that my broom isn't the only thing that's changed this year."

Harry laughed out loud. "Did you get your father to magically stretch your arms or something? It's a wonder he has time, what with all of his court appearances and all."

For a split second, Draco seemed to lose his cool. He fidgeted visibly in the periphery of Harry's vision, but then regained control. Harry knew he had hit a tender spot there; it was largely on account of Harry that the older Malfoy had been arrested the previous summer. Somehow, Mr. Malfoy had managed to slither his way out of trouble, and Harry suspected that gold had changed hands in the process.

"I wasn't talking about my arms," Draco said mildly. "Just, y'know, in general."

"Oh?" Harry was hardly paying attention to the conversation at this point. He began drifting slowly back toward the pitch, and to his annoyance Draco followed.

"Things aren't what they once were, Potter. Even Taboos aren't the same. Can you imagine? Just last night, one of my pets came to visit me. A Gryffindor, in the Slytherin common room! Can you imagine that? Poor thing, she was rather upset, too… She told me about it, of course, but I wasn't listening."  
            Harry took his eyes off of the field for the first time, turning venomously upon Draco. "What are you talking about?" he hissed.

"Oh?" Draco asked, feigning innocence. "Tell Ginny I want my scarf back."

Harry briefly considered pulling out his wand, but then caught something out of the corner of his eyes. Far below, almost on the ground, he caught a glimmer of gold, right in front of the student seats. Without a further word, Harry turned his broom down and rocketed toward the ground. He had lost sight of the illustrious snitch, and glanced around furiously to find it again. He wasted a split second to check on the progress of Draco, but was surprised to see that the Slytherin seeker was not in pursuit. Harry felt a sense of panic run through him, but that was set right when he spotted the Snitch again, hovering in front of the southern goalposts, directly behind Ron.

Harry gritted his teeth; he could see the Snitch, but his path to it was cut off by the majority of the Quidditch players. The mediocre performance by the Chasers on his team meant that the Quaffle had spent most of the game in front of the Gryffindor goal posts. All the other players, excepting only the Slytherin Seeker and Keeper, were clustered around Ron, and none of them seemed aware of the Snitch. Harry put on a burst of speed, and cut between two of the Slytherin Chasers on the left flank. A red blur filled his vision, and Harry ducked his head just in time to deflect the Quaffle off of his forehead, instead of his nose. Startled cries followed him as he raced toward Ron, whose eyes were growing very large indeed. The Snitch whirled in and out of the central hoop, mere inches from Ron's right ankle. Harry turned sharply right, stretched his body as far as it would go, and reached out his hands for the Snitch…

Harry felt a powerful blow to his exposed ribs on the left side of his body as a well-aimed Bludger caromed off of him. The force of the unexpected strike was enough to disentangle Harry's legs from the broom, and before he knew it, he was airborne, flying freely. Harry's Firebolt twirled away into emptiness. After what seemed the better part of an hour, Harry's left arm crooked around the forward tip of Ron's broom, and, to his immense relief, he was able to cling to it one-armed. Ron sputtered a bit, trying to speak, as the broom began to drift downward under the increased weight.

"Harry?" he managed.

Harry said nothing, but merely held up his right fist, in which was clutched the Golden Snitch.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ron took Harry's right arm and slung it over his own shoulder, guiding the heroic Seeker away from the Quidditch pitch. Harry's ribs were severely bruised, if not cracked, from the Bludger attack he had suffered.

"How bad is it?" Ron asked, sounding more curious than concerned. Over the years, he had seen Harry suffer a lot worse.

"Eh," Harry said, shrugging. This turned out to be a painful gesture, so he made a mental note to discontinue its use, at least until he had been to see Madame Pomfrey.

"Do you feel so bad that you don't want to use this?" Ron asked, pulling something out of his pocket and showing it to Harry. He gestured with his head toward the small building where the Slytherins were changing out of their Quidditch robes.

Harry laughed, recognizing the Extendable Ears manufactured by Ron's older brothers. They took one a piece, and found a secluded spot to huddle outside the green tent.

"What happened?" came the angry voice of Draco Malfoy.

A gruff voice responded. "What happened? Potter beat you to the Snitch again."

Ron gave Harry a smile, and they both stifled laughs.

"I wasn't talking to you, Goyle," Draco said coolly. "If you ever imply that this was my fault again, I'll make sure you're sorry for it. Understand?"

"Yeah," Goyle answered quietly.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" Draco said loudly, his voice scolding.

"I don't know," replied a female voice they did not immediately recognize.

Harry frowned; there were no women on the Slytherin Quidditch team.

The girl went on. "I sent the signal out, just like you told me to-"

"Yeah, right when the _real_ Snitch appeared."

"Honestly, I didn't see it!" she protested.

"Pansy. Were you trying to help Potter? What are you playing at?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Harry's mind was turning furiously. Up in the sky, when he had been talking to Draco, he had seen the Snitch down on the field. In fact, it had been right in front of the Slytherin stands. Suddenly, Harry understood why Draco had not followed him. It had all been a trick to send him chasing after a fake Snitch, only he happened to see the real thing on his way after it. It was a clever trick, really: he never would have seen it coming. He could have spent the entire game chasing after an imaginary snitch, leaving Draco to find the real one at his leisure.

"Draco, you know me better than that," the girl answered, sounding angry. "You know that I have just as much reason to hate Potty as-"

"Don't you say it," Draco said quietly, but Harry could sense the threat in his voice. "I don't think your miserable story can even compare to-"

"Screw you, Malfoy," Pansy said coldly. "I'm out of here."

"Come back here!" Draco's voice boomed.  
            Clambering noises inside the tent told Harry and Ron that it was a good time to leave. They stowed the Extendable Ears into their robes, and began hobbling away from the tent as quickly as Harry could manage.

It was not quick enough. Harry was knocked off of his feet when Pansy Parkinson, full of rage, stormed out of the Slytherin tent and collided with him. Harry said nothing, but merely looked up at her from his position on the ground, trying not to look guilty.

Pansy towered over the fallen Gryffindor and his shocked companion, narrowing her dark eyes at Harry sinisterly. Even if she did not see the Ears, it must have been evident to her that they had been eavesdropping. Her gaunt frame was shaking in rage as she seized a lock of her dark hair that had gone astray, and tucked it behind her pale ears.  The look on her face suggested that she was preparing to spit on him. Harry was just beginning to think of something to say when she snarled savagely and stalked off the other direction without a word.


	2. Chapter Two

            "So, they tried to fool you?" Hermione asked.

            Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in the dark corner of the Gryffindor Common Room, while a carnival atmosphere took over most of the room. Harry's housemates had gotten accustomed to being on the winning side of Quidditch matches, but any victory over Slytherin was cause for concentrated debauchery. The Creevey brothers had mysteriously produced a few cases of butterbeer, much to the pleasure of the masses. Harry spotted a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey floating around the room, but thankfully Hermione had not.

            "Yeah, looks like it," Harry said quietly.

            "Only their own rotten trick backfired on them!" Ron exclaimed, raising his butterbeer in jubilation. "I guess they learned their lesson the hard way!"

            "Yeah," Harry muttered, unconvinced. He was pestered by a single doubt: Had Pansy Parkinson been trying to help him? And if so, why? It seemed ridiculous; she apparently had some specific reason to hate him. And why would she betray her own house?

            On the other hand, the game had run on for over six hours without the Snitch appearing anywhere. It was highly improbable that she accidentally sent up the signal at the precise moment when the Snitch appeared.

            "Wow, man!" came a new voice. Dean Thomas appeared next to them suddenly, slurring his words slightly. "Great catch, Harry. I mean… wow. You deflected the Quaffle, took a bludger in the side, even got knocked off your broom, and still made the catch!"

            "Thanks," Harry said sheepishly. He was sure that he was nearly as red as Ron's hair.

            "And you!" Dean went on, pointing a wobbly finger at Ron. "Four goals? In six hours? That's incredible, man. I think that's a record, in fact!"

            Ron smiled. "I'm not that good really," he said demurely. "Slytherin is just that bad."

            Dean would not hear it. "What about Hufflepuff, man? You didn't let them score at all!"

            "Well, yeah, but that was Huff-"

            "Hey, come back over here with me," Dean said mischievously. "I've got some one I want you to meet." He pulled Ron up by the arm, and led him over to the throng of celebrating Gryffindors.

            Hermione watched them both go, her eyes narrowed severely. "Looks like Dean is introducing Ron to… Neville."

            Harry laughed. "Let him go, Hermione. He doesn't get to soak in their praise nearly often enough."  
            "Maybe so," Hermione said indifferently, still watching Ron in the crowd of students. She turned back to Harry with a suspicious look on her face. "Did Dean seem drunk to you?"  
            "Who? Dean? No way," Harry said quickly. "Look, never mind that right now. I've got something to ask you."

            "Oh?" 

            "During the game, I had an interesting talk with Malfoy," Harry said, speaking quietly to Hermione but keeping his eyes on Ron across the room. "Apparently, he's the one who is, erm, dating Ginny."

            Hermione slapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, Harry, that's awful!"

            Harry nodded. "Yeah. If Ron finds out, it won't be a pretty scene."

            "Harry, you're not planning on telling him, are you?" Hermione asked frightfully.

            "Not if I care for my limbs," Harry replied. "My best bet is to handle this quickly and quietly."

            "Harry, what are we going to do about it?" Hermione asked desperately.

            "We?" Harry repeated. "I thought you said Ginny could date whoever she wanted!"           

            Hermione frowned at him. "Well, yes, but… Look. We know that Draco is evil. His parents are Deatheaters. If he's after Ginny, we've got to stop it!"

            Harry smiled; Hermione was talking sense again. "I've thought about taking a page out of The Book of Ron' and just murdering that little git."

            "That would be effective," Hermione agreed. "But it lacks finesse."

            "What do you propose?"  
            "I don't know," she answered. "I will have to think about it. In the meantime-" She was swiveling her head back and forth at increasing speed. "-Where is Ginny?"

            With a sense of rising panic, Harry got to his feet and visually searching the room. He glanced back at Hermione a few fruitless seconds later.

            "I'll go check the girls' dormitories," she exclaimed, but Harry put his hand on her shoulder.

            "I have a better idea: Let's check the Map." Harry led Hermione up the stairs to the Boys Dormitory, which was fortunately empty. Harry reached under his bed and pulled out a small chest containing two things which had once belonged to his father; an invisibility cloak and an old, ruffled roll of parchment. Checking again to see that they were alone, they hopped on his bed and pulled the curtains shut. He unfolded the paper, spreading it out on his bed. Harry pulled out his wand and tapped it on the blank page, uttering the magical words:

            "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

            Ink appeared on the surface of the empty paper and spread quickly across, laying out a map of Hogwarts. In addition to recording every passageway in the old school, the mischievous map displayed hundreds of tiny moving dots. The dots were labeled with names, and they depicted the current location of everyone on the school grounds. Harry did not waste time checking the great hall or the library, but put his finger at once on the Slytherin common room, where a dot named Ginny Weasley was keeping some dubious company; Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy were all huddled around her.

            Hermione gave Harry a horrible look. "Oh no, she's with him!"

            Harry frowned. "I don't know how I could get into the Slytherin common room." The only time he had made it inside was during his second year, and then only because he had been magically disguised as a member of the house. It would take a month to brew the potion needed to pull that stunt again.

            "What are we going to do?"

            "Shhh!" Harry cut her off by pointing at the map, where the Ronald Weasley dot was leaving a mass in the Gryffindor common room and drawing ever closer to their own dots. "Mischief Managed!" Harry said sharply but quietly.

            "Hey guys, are you in here?" Ron's voice called into the room. "Harry?"

            In their rush to clear the map, it did not occur to Harry that their situation looked a little unusual. Hermione on the other hand, had acted quickly and pulled the invisibility cloak over her body. Ron pulled open the curtain and craned his head in to look at Harry. "Hey mate, what're you doing up here?" he asked jovially. "The party is all downstairs!"

            "Oh, I…" Harry fumbled for words, but gave up when he noticed that Ron was no longer looking at him. Instead, the redhead's attention seemed taken by the sight of half of a woman's lower leg, sitting at the foot of Harry's bed. Ron gave Harry an odd look, and pulled off the invisibility cloak.

            "Hi, Ron," Hermione said as she emerged.

            "Oh!" He said loudly, shutting the curtain as quickly he was able. "Sorry! I-"

            "Ron!" Hermione shouted, "It's not what it looks like!"          

            If Ron had asked what they were actually doing on Harry's bed, they would have been hard-pressed to answer it. Instead, however, they heard his feet carrying him down the stairs, taking his wrong conclusion with him.

            "Oh god, Harry," Hermione murmured. "What are we going to do?"

            "We're going to split up," Harry said through clinched teeth.

            "We weren't even dating!" Hermione protested.

            "No, not that! _You_ go talk to Ron, and _I'll_ go get Ginny," he told her.

            Hermione flushed red. "Okay, good plan," she agreed quickly. "But wait! What do I tell Ron?"

            Harry had already grabbed his things and was making for the door. He turned around slowly, looking at Hermione tenderly. "The truth?"  
            "What? That Ginny is dating—" She stopped herself there, then continued in a whisper. "That she's dating Draco?"

            Harry shook his head. "No, the other truth," Harry said. "That you aren't really dating me. That you and I are just friends. That you could never date me because you've been absolutely hung up on him since our third year."

            Hermione's eyes went wide, and her power of speech seemed to fail her. Harry, somewhat surprised by his own words, seized on this moment and swept from the room quickly. He threw on the invisibility cloak in the spiral staircase outside of the dormitory, just in time to avoid Neville coming up from the common room. Within seconds, he was out in the cold, stone corridors of Hogwarts, racing toward the Slytherin House. He tried not to imagine what was going on in that place, but even so he felt his pulse rising. He lowered his head and sped up. The temperature of the air seemed to have dropped five degrees by the time he made his way into the dank dungeons of the school, and he was almost to the Slytherin room itself when he heard a harsh female voice from around the nearest corner.

            "C'mon on, you little wretch!"

            Harry instinctively stopped his forward progress and flattened himself against the wall, hiding behind a statue of a Theophilus the Valiant. He reined in his breath just enough to hear a muffled whimpering noise.

            "You can cut that out," the voice went on. "You must know that I won't feel sorry for you. Now, quit your whining, and let's get you back where you belong."

            These words were answered by an anguished cry that Harry recognized as Ginny's. Pulling off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffing it into his robes, Harry rounded the corner with a brisk walk. He found Ginny sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall and holding her head in her hands. Pansy stood in front of the other girl, disdain painted on her pale features. She looked up when she heard Harry coming, and smiled wickedly.

            "How surprising," she said flatly. "Taking another turn at eavesdropping?"

            Harry frowned, but answered boldly. "What have you done to her?"

            "Me?" Pansy said, laughing slightly. "Nothing serious. I was simply taking her back to her owners when she fell over, the child. She's been quite difficult to move. It's a good thing one of her stewards came along—I was about to abandon her." She turned her attention back to Ginny with a contemptuous smile on her lips.

            Ginny, for her part, seemed unaware that Harry was even present, but simply cowered and cried.

            Harry glowered at her. "Doing Malfoy's dirty work for him, are you?"

            Pansy shot him a glance of particular severity. "Make sure you understand one thing, half-blood," she growled. "I am no one's errand girl. Let's just say I'm… taking out the trash." She gave Ginny's foot a nudge with her shoe.

            "Don't say that," Harry growled. He crossed the remaining distance between them and stood next to Pansy, trying to look imposing.

            Pansy regarded him bemusedly. "Well, go ahead, then," she said, her voice almost a laugh. "You can have her. She's yours again."

            "For your information," Harry said curtly, "She isn't _mine_."  
            "Oh, poor thing," Pansy crooned, looking down at Ginny. "It seems _no one_ wants you. Pity." With this, the dark haired Slytherin girl began walking away, in the direction of the Slytherin common room.

            "You tell Draco to keep his hands off of her," Harry called after her.

            Pansy stopped, but did not turn you once. "I already told you that I am no one's errand girl, not even yours, _Lord Potter._ You tell him yourself." She resumed her walk, laughing audibly, and Harry turned his attention back to his best friend's sister.

            "Come on, Gin," he muttered. "Let's get you home."

            Ginny, who had not said a word during the entire conversation, looked up at Harry in surprise. "Harry?" she asked, sounding lost. He felt his heart lunge at the sight of her; eyes bloodshot, cheeks flushed, her hair tossled and tangled. It was not hard to guess what had happened -- Draco must have staged the break-up in front of his Slytherin friends, and they had likely had some sport at her suffering. It was little wonder that the girl was so upset.

            He took both of her wrists into his hands and hoisted her to her feet. He put his right arm behind her back, and began guiding her through the wide stone corridors. "Let's get you home, Gin," he repeated. "Back where you belong."

            His companion only whimpered in response.

            It took them nearly half an hour to get back to Gryffindor Tower. Under the watchful gaze of the Fat Lady, Harry pulled out the map and checked the location of Hermione and Ron. He was not terribly surprised to see that they were not in the Common room at all, but were outside the castle, sitting alone beside the lake. He took Ginny as far as the base of the stairs that lead to the girls' dormitories, and there parted company with her. He gave her a tender hug and sent her upstairs.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            On Monday, Harry awoke slowly and sat up in bed. He shook his slowly, trying to clear it of the dream he had been having. Visions floated in front of his waking mind; He had been walking down a bright, sunny street with a flower in his hand. He had met a girl there, a foggy, ethereal form whose face he could not make out. Giving up, he found his glasses and got out of bed. "Come on, Ron," he said loudly. "It's time for breakfast. We've got a long day ahead of us."

            It was not unprecedented that Ron did not answer at once; often Harry had to call his roommate more than once to rouse him from slumber. What was surprising was that Ron was not in his bed at all. Now that he thought of it, his old chum had been rather scarce the entire day before. Harry's weary mind was incapable of adding two and two at the moment, so he dressed quickly and went down to breakfast alone, in a state of profound bewilderment. It was not until he took his seat at the Gryffindor table next to his two best friends that things finally slipped into place.

            Ron and Hermione sat across the table from each other, maintaining an oblivious silence. Neither noticed Harry's arrival, even though he nearly uprooted Ron while squeezing into the seat between him and Dean. "There you are Ron!" Harry exclaimed, digging into his scrambled eggs fervently. "I was terrified when you weren't in your bed this morning."  
            "Mmm-hmmm," said Ron astutely.

            "I thought maybe one of Luna's Snorkacks had gotten to you!" Harry continued.

            "Huh?" Ron asked, not breaking his vigil with Hermione. "No, I didn't have time to finish McGonagall's essay."

            Harry stared at his redheaded comrade, unable to process what was transpiring before his eyes. An odd thought flashed through his forebrain. "Say," he began slowly, watching his two best friends in astonishment. "Where were you guys yesterday?"

            "A better question," Dean said quietly, leaning closer to Harry in a conspiratorial way, "Is where were _you_? These two have been like this since Saturday night."

            Harry frowned at Dean. Dean shrugged. Ron smiled at Hermione. Hermione giggled, and Ron joined her in this. Harry decided it was time for drastic action.

            "I think Ginny and Draco broke up," He blurted, watching Ron delicately.

            Hermione blushed slightly, drooping her head but still looking into Ron's eyes.

            "What are you playing at, mate?" Dean hissed.

            "She was pretty shaken up about it, to be honest," Harry went on in disbelief. "I'm sure she'll recover, but it was a harrowing ordeal for her."

            "I wouldn't say that," Hermione inserted. "I think a few solid hours of practice for the Chasers and Gryffindor will be in top form."

            Harry dropped his fork. "Is Hermione talking about Quidditch?" He gasped. "What have I done?"

            "Funny, isn't it?" Dean said, shaking his head wistfully at the young couple. "From a muggle perspective, I mean. We came into this school with hardly any knowledge of the magical world, and spent the next few years gaping at how magic revolutionized our lives. Everything we knew in childhood had to be modified to fit the new data; transportation, medicine, even the very laws of physics! Today, we learn the rest of the lesson – no matter how powerful a wizard might be, there are still natural forces that magic is powerless against."

            Harry blinked rapidly. "Like girls?"

            "Precisely."

            Dean's ruminations on the efficacy of magic were interrupted by the arrival of that day's Owl Post. As usual, a large barn owl dropped off Hermione's copy of _The Daily Prophet_, this time directly on top of cheese omelet. Nonplussed, Hermione stared at Ron with a dreamy look in her eyes, inserted her fork into the rolled up paper and began sawing softly on it with her knife. The owl, meanwhile, settled on top of her head and began nesting in her hair, awaiting payment. Harry stared at her, mesmerized by the vacancy in her stare, and as such did not notice the envelope in front of him until Dean pointed it out.

            "You gonna open that?"

            Harry looked down to find a lurid yellow envelope on the table before him. On the front was his name and location. He flipped it over to see a large smiley face, winking at him suggestively, beneath the return address: "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes".

            "I dunno, Dean," Harry said slowly. "Do you think I should? There's no telling what sort of charms might be on it."

            A word bubble appeared next to the smiley face, in which appeared the words: "Go on, Harry! Open it!"

            "Not a good idea, mate," Ron said, startling Harry severely.

            "Glad to see you're back among the living," Harry returned sourly.

            "What are you talking about?" Ron asked quizzically. His face betrayed pure bewilderment.

            Harry gave him an incredulous look. "What am I talking about?" he repeated. "Quidditch. I was talking about Quidditch."

            "Oh," Ron muttered, clearly relieved. "You know, Hermione had a really good idea for the team. She thinks we need to train our Chasers better." He looked across the table, and his eyes seemed to lose their luster. "I love the way you take an interest in Quidditch."

            Harry gave up on Ron and looked back at the envelope. The smiley face had a new word bubble, this one saying: "Come on, trust us!"

            "Bloody Hell," Harry cursed, tearing open the envelope. A thin stream of stinksap sprayed from inside, coating his robes. "Sonofa-"

            Dean laughed. "Anything less and you'd have reason to suspect a forgery," he observed.

            Harry shot Dean a dirty look and pulled out the single page inside.

Dearest Harry,

          Meet us in front of Zonko's this Saturday at three o'clock sharp. We have urgent business to discuss, and we assure you it will be worth your while. Don't be late!

                    Mildly sorry about the stinksap,

                              Gred and Forge

            "Is this weekend a Hogsmeade visit?" he asked Dean severely.

            "Uh, yeah," Dean said after due consideration.

            "What in the hell?" Harry wondered aloud.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            At exactly 3:27 pm, Harry looked up to see a pair of identical grins looking down at him. "Don't be late?" He asked curtly, shutting his Transfiguration book loudly.

            "Hmmm, sounds like prudent advice," Fred observed.

            "Mother dear was always telling us that, anyway," George put in.

            The twins seized Harry by the wrists and pulled him to his feet.

            "Ahhh, Zonko's," George went on, eyeing the store behind Harry fondly.

            "Spent many an hour in there," Fred said, picking up the thread of conversation.

            "Buying,"

            "Selling,"

            "Plotting,"

            "But most of all,"

            "Sharing."

            "Yes."

            "Sharing, Harry," George said emphatically. "It was a place of great personal growth for us all."

            "Old Zonko," Fred said, raising his hand in solemn salute. The gesture was genuine, Harry felt, whether or not Fred's hand happened to be holding a rubber chicken.

            "A true genius," George chimed.

            "The greatest wizard of his time," Fred said.

            "Took Hogwarts by storm, he did."

            "I'm sure," Harry chimed. "But then, I recall you two made quite a name for yourselves as well."

            Fred smiled bashfully. Regaining his composure, he put his hand on George's shoulder and intoned soulfully: "Our legacy."

            "Ah, yes."

            The twin pranksters fell silent for several whole minutes.

            "Not to ruin the moment or anything, but what did you two want me for anyway?" Harry interjected irritably.

            "We're getting to that, my impetuous friend," George said, scowling at Harry.

            "My colleague and I, well, we have some concerns," Fred began in an officious tone.

            "My colleague speaks the truth," George went on. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, who was the greatest Prankster at Hogwarts last year?"

            "The best comedians?"

            "The most accomplished hell-raisers?"

            Harry passed his gaze back and forth between the twins. In the joke shop behind him, a series of small explosions culminated in a loud pop and a flash of blue light. "You two were."

            "Ah, excellent," Fred said, blushing.

            "Oh, do go on," George demurred.

            "Walk with us, Harry," Fred said, leading the Boy-Who-Lived away from Zonko's and down the street.   "That was an easy one, I'll admit."

            "But then, riddle us this," George supplied.

            "Who was second best?"

            "Eh?" Harry asked shrewdly.

            "Who was the runner-up?"  
            "Who carried the silver medal?"

            "Who held the second fiddle?"

            "Who was elected Vice-prankster, should the presidents (heaven forbid!) be unable to fulfill their vital role?"

            Harry stopped walking, puzzled. Fred and George looked at him expectantly, leaning in slightly in their interest.

            "I-I really can't think of anyone," Harry responded.

            Fred clapped his hands together and George nodded his head gravely.

            "Thus far, Harry my boy, you have demonstrated uncanny perspicacity in answering our questions," Fred said, clapping him on the shoulder fondly.

            "Which is a fancy way of saying that you answered them precisely the same way we did," George interjected.

            "Which rather leads us to our problem," Fred concluded.

            Harry looked at the two of them blankly.

            "You see, Harry… may I call you Harry?" George asked, hooking Harry's elbow in his own and continuing the walk.

            "You've been calling me that since-" Harry began.

            "We think we are pretty good at what we do," Fred cut him off.

            "Maybe we're right, maybe we're wrong," George went on.

            "It doesn't matter. It's a purely academic question."

            "It seems that many are inclined to agree with us in our assessment," George continued pompously.

            "But where is the proof?"

            "We lack evidence!"

            "_Habeas Corpus_, if you speak Latin."

            "I don't," Harry started again. "But-"

            "And sadly, that unenviable state of affairs is beyond repair."

            "We wept bitterly when we realized this," George confided.

            "You mean-"

            "Yes, Harry, we wept," Fred said loudly, striding tall.

            "We're not ashamed to admit it."

            "WAIT!" Harry said, nearly shouting. "You're upset because… there is no evidence to back up your legacy?"

            Fred and George exchanged a meaningful look. "Gred, I knew we chose wisely when we selected Master Potter."

            "Dash cunning, he is, Forge."

            "What do you want? Photographs? Witness testimony? Notarized reports?" Harry asked, confused to the point of frustration.

            "Well…"  
            "That sort of thing would be nice, wouldn't it?"

            "But it is too late for us, as we've already said," Fred said, frowning slightly.

            "Our only thought is for the next generation," George stated.

            "Our only hope is to spare the next round of pranksters from our horrible fate," Fred said, an odd glimmer in his eyes.

            "It is our thought that we can rescue those poor souls with a little bit of chronicling."

            "Write down their exploits."

            "Add definition to their legacy-"

            "-By showing the competition they overcame."

            The Weasley twins appeared to have found their peroration.

            "And?" Harry asked in exasperation.

            "It is our responsibility at WWW to foster and assist young new genius," Fred declared.

            "It's in the mission statement!" George exclaimed gleefully.

            "To that end, we have decided to sponsor the Heir to the Throne competition."

            "A month-long extravaganza that will allow the next generation to demonstrate their abilities."  
            "A proving ground for the brightest witches and wizards!"

            "Contestants may enter in pairs or individually."

            "Naturally, we have reason to suspect that it will be a two-person act that comes out on top."

            "Seems the natural order."

            "Where was Zonko without his hatchetman, Patrick?"

            "Abbot without Costello?"

            "Potter without Black?"

            "Ant without Buckley?"

            "Spassky without Fischer?"

            "Weasley…"

            "…without Weasley?"

            Fred and George paused in a reflective silence.

            Harry felt a now-familiar sensation of dread beginning in his stomach. "What… does this contest have to with me?"  
            "Harry, my friend, you are to be the scorekeeper."

            "Come again?"

            "Well, sadly, we can't be there ourselves to monitor the proceedings," George lamented.

            "Although, I assure that Dumbledore is in complete support of the project," Fred hastened to say.

            "Of course, in our experience, complete support of' and complete ignorance of' are effectively interchangeable terms."

            "All the same, we need a man on the inside."

            "For the contestants to report to."

            "To tally the effects of their exploits."

            "For crying out loud, to enjoy the carnage!"

            "Harry," Fred said imploringly, taking his hand, "You were the natural choice."

            "We thought of our brother, of course."

            "But there is that pesky Prefect business to consider."

            "Too messy altogether."

            "And then we thought of our sister."

            "But she is suspect in a crucial category."

            "Namely, that of talking too regularly with our mother."

            "But you! You are perfect!"

            "You alone have the brains!"

            "The capacity for enjoyment for a good prank!"

            "The discretion!"

            "To pull this off."

            "We could pay you, of course."

            "Gold, Harry!"

            "Seems a little strange, though."  
            "At least, in light of your, erm, _investment history_."

            "A gift we won't soon forget!"

            "And one we hope to repay someday."

            "I don't want your money!" Harry blurted.

            "_Pro bono_, then?"

            "Good man!"

            "We had hoped you'd say that!"  
            "I knew we could count on you!"

            Harry never had the chance to say no.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry made his way down the wide streets of Hogsmeade, a thick stack of flyers from WWW hiding in his bag. ("To be distributed with decorum!" Fred had declared gaily. "By which he means given out secretly," George had clarified.) He felt a general sense of irritation rising within him, but it would have been hard to nail down the precise reason. It might have been the weight of his satchel, which he carried around grudgingly. It might have been the pervasive cold, pouring down relentlessly from the gray skies. It could well have been the unwelcome task that had just been foisted upon him. At the moment, though, he was most aggravated by his lack of a destination.

            On previous voyages to Hogsmeade, he had always had something to do. There had been a (fortunately brief) romantic entanglement with Cho Chang, now a seventh year Ravenclaw. There had been the clandestine meeting to gauge interest in the DA. More obviously, he had always had Ron and Hermione to keep him company. In the last week, however, he had become a third wheel. It was not that they meant to push him aside or exclude him in any way, but every time he was with them those days, he felt worse than alone. They had stumbled upon something new and exciting that he could not be a part of, and as much as he tried to be happy for them, it killed him to hang out with them.

            Feeling profoundly sorry for himself, Harry shouldered his way through the door of the Three Broomsticks. He stalked up to the counter and ordered a mug of butterbeer, and began searching for a place to seat. On every other trip he had made to that bar, this was no mean feat. That day the business was unaccountably slow. There were only two occupied tables in the whole establishment. On his left, sitting at a broad, round table were three cloaked wizards, talking in low but menacing voices. Against the far wall, in a booth by herself, sat Pansy Parkinson, apparently studying. Harry made his way over to her on an odd impulse.

            "Hi," he said meekly, standing in front of her table with a silly grin on his face.

            Pansy scarcely looked up from her texts. "Lord Potter," she said loudly, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

            Harry frowned but quickly recovered. "I wanted to talk to you."

            Pansy set her quill down on the table with a loud click and locked her eyes with Harry's. "This ought to be good," she said in the same loud voice. "What would make a Gryffindor approach a Slytherin in full view of the public eye? Well, sit down then!"

            Harry set his mug on the table and sheepishly sat down. "It's… uh…"

            "Yes?"

            "I wanted—to ask you about the Quidditch game," he pronounced finally.

            "The Gryffindor-Slytherin match? As I recall you made one of your legendary catches and earned honor and prestige for yourself and your team," she said slowly, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Did you forget? Or did you simply want me to say it?"

            Harry blushed furiously and looked around to see if anyone had heard her previous statements. If the other table in the bar had noticed, they gave no sign of it. "That's not what I meant."

            "No?" She said laughingly. "Perhaps you wanted me to lavish praise on Weasley's Keeping abilities? He-"

            "No!" Harry said, more loudly than he had intended. "I wanted to ask you about the Golden Snitch."

            Pansy said nothing but surveyed Harry with penetrating eyes.

            "Did you… cheat in that game?" He managed with difficulty.

            "Oh, I see," Pansy said severely. "You were listening in, were you?"

            Harry shrugged; there was little hope of hiding that particular fact. "Yeah, I was. Were you trying to help Draco out, or me?"

            "What goes on between Draco Malfoy and I is no business of yours," Pansy snapped.

            Harry's mind turned quickly, searching for a rude final statement, which he could deliver haughtily and walk away. When nothing came quickly to his mind, he simply sat in his seat for another moment. "You were supposed to help him cheat, weren't you?"

            Pansy shook her head slowly, but said nothing.

            Harry pressed on. "He wanted you to throw me off the path of the Snitch, send me barking up the wrong tree."

            "What is it you want, Lord Potter?" she asked angrily. "A written statement that you can turn into Madame Hooch or Professor Dumbledore?"

            "Nope," Harry said quietly. "I want to know why you betrayed Draco to help me."

            Harry's word hung heavily in the air for a moment, and Pansy did not answer immediately. "You may rest assured that I did not have your best interests in mind."

            "No doubt," Harry conceded. "You… you don't like Draco, do you?"

            Pansy laughed a little, but in a different way than Harry was used to. The only laughter he had ever heard from Pansy Parkinson was hard to mistake; she laughed at people, not with them. This time, however, the cruel, superior edge to her voice was notably absent. It was actually a pretty sound. "Nobody likes Draco, Potter," she said. "Not me, certainly. Not Crabbe, nor Goyle. Not even Draco himself."

            A small part of Harry, deep within, was moved to pity for the blond-headed Slytherin. The rest of him, meanwhile, laughed heartily at the notion. "Surely his father does?"

            Pansy laughed even harder, slapping her palm emphatically on the table top. "Nope, not him either. The thing you have to know about the Malfoys is that they are very different people in public than they are at home. In front of witnesses, of course, Lucious cares deeply for his son. At home, though, he treats his House Elves better than his son."

            Harry's eyes widened slightly. "Wow."

            "You can say that again," Pansy said, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye.

            Harry did.

            Pansy laughed again. "It is a pity," she said after a moment, "that you weren't in the tent with me. I think you are one of the only other people who could have appreciated the look on his face!"

            Harry laughed again, surprised to realize that he felt rather comfortable with her. And yet, a nagging question persisted in the back of his brain. "Um, Pansy?"

            Pansy seemed to snap back into her former, cold self. "What is it?" she asked, her voice sounding almost angry.

            "Aren't you… dating Draco?"

            Pansy looked away, was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly bitter. "No, we aren't dating at the moment."

            "But you used to?"  
            Still, she did not look at him. "In a manner of speaking, yes," she answered quietly. "We _were_ dating, and we will be dating again someday."

            Harry was bewildered. "But…"  
            "I know; I said that I don't like him. And I don't, and I never will. But someday I will marry him, a fact as inevitable as it is undesirable."

            "But, why?" he asked hesitantly, afraid of how she might reply.

            "It is evident that you don't know what you're talking about," she said, turning to face him at last. Harry felt his stomach lurch at the look on her face. Her eyes, normally deep inky wells, contained a shade of pink he had never seen before. Her nose was twitching slightly, and her red lips quavered with a powerful emotion. Hurt? Rage? He could only guess.

            "I have to go now," she said quietly. She began gathering her things together.

            Harry opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, having nothing to say. He watched helplessly as Pansy shouldered her bag and walked away from the table without another word. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wondered why he was so adept at upsetting girls. He grabbed his own bag, leaving the mug of butterbeer untouched on the table, and rushed after her. He tore out of the front entrance to the Three Broomsticks, and spotted her on his right side, walking away slowly. "Pansy!" he shouted after her. "Pansy, wait!"

            Pansy stopped walking, her shoulders visibly sagging. She turned around slowly and looked at him impatiently.

            Across the street, a pair of Hufflepuff third years looked at them in alarm. Paying no heed to the audience, Harry hurried over to the Slytherin. "Look, Pansy, about what I said in there… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

            "Forget about it," she said simply.

            "Look, I didn't want…"

            "I said forget about it," she repeated, her voice sounding almost angry now.         He reached into his bag and produced one of the flyers from WWW. "Here. Take this," he said, handing it to her. "Keep on it the DL."

            "DL?" she asked bemusedly, scanning the paper with interest.

            "Uh… yeah. It's a muggle slang term for keep it quiet'."

            "Muggle slang, Lord Potter? How unbecoming of a proper wizard!" Her voice carried no trace of the condemning tone he had come to expect of her. In fact, it sounded as though she were just kidding.

            Harry shrugged. "Never really wanted to be a proper wizard anyway."

            Pansy looked away from the flyer and smiled at him. "Well, if you keep hanging out with Muggles, that shouldn't be a problem."

            "I can't help it," he said. "I live with them during the summers."

            "How frightful," she giggled.

            "You have no idea."

            "So, what am I supposed to do with this, anyway?" she asked, gesturing at the sheet.

            "I, er, thought you might consider. You know, just in case you had any more neat pranks to pull on Draco," he said, laughing a little nervously.

            "Okay," she said, sticking the sheet in her bag.

            "Do you think I could get you to put one up in your common room?" he said slowly, pulling out another flyer. "I mean, I know _most _of the people in Slytherin are idiots, but, you know, just in case." He gave her a big smile.

            She glared at him for a second, but that quickly faded into a sly smile. "Are you sure you want to do this, Scarhead?"

            "Sure. Why not?"

            "If you open this contest up to my house, you know we'll win," she said, a combative look in her eyes.

            "Slytherin? Slytherin doesn't win anything, least of all Quidditch matches," he said, smiling maliciously.

            Pansy put her finger up, as if in warning. "Only on account of cheating," she reminded him.

            "Hey," he said defensively. "We didn't cheat!"

            "Even so," she said, blushing slightly. "Good-bye, Potter."

            "Bye, Pansy," he said to her back as she walked away.


	3. Chapter Three

            "All right class. That should do it for today. Put your wands away. We'll resume work on the Impervius charm tomorrow."

            Anton Nemo, despite being rather soft-spoken, had little trouble gaining the attention of his entire class. Something in his calm, disciplined manner commanded respect from the students. Their sixth Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in as many years was a tall, lanky man with brown hair in a bowl cut. Behind thin glasses was a pair of kind, yet piercing, brown eyes.  He was the youngest teacher Harry had ever had, likely in his mid twenties. Unlike several of his predecessors at the station, he genuinely knew his stuff; he had been employed until that year as an Auror in the American Magical Government. Rumor had it that he was among the foremost experts at Wizard Dueling; allegedly he was one of the deadliest people with a wand anywhere in the world. When he spoke, students tended to listen.

            "Mr. Potter," he said casually. He sat behind the small desk in the DADA classroom, examining a sheet of paper interestedly. "A word, if you please?"

            Ron and Hermione glanced at Harry, hesitating before picking up their bags.

            "Mz. Granger and Mr. Weasley, you may wait in the hall," Professor Nemo informed them curtly.

            "Go ahead, guys," Harry muttered. "I'll catch up with you in a minute." As soon as they had left, Harry walked up to the front of the room and stood expectantly in front of the teacher's desk. "Yes sir?"

            "Mr. Potter," Nemo said in a loud, professional voice. "I wanted to talk to you about your work."

            "My work, sir?" Harry asked, confused. He had been held after class for this sort of discussion before, most often in Potions, but his work in DADA had never been in question.

            "Indeed," Nemo said quietly. "I don't mind telling you that your abilities in Defense are remarkable for your age. I think you have a better grasp of the topic, in academic understanding as well as practical application, than many full grown wizards."

            "Thank you, sir," Harry muttered, feeling his cheeks flush.

            "Furthermore, I've been impressed with the depth of understanding demonstrated by the members of your so-called DA. I know that most of the students here have suffered from… let us say… _inconsistent_ tutelage in this subject over the years," He said, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. "Their knowledge is a testament to your teaching as well as your own skill. That said, it is apparent to me that your abilities are well below where they need to be."

            Harry nearly dropped his bag in surprise. "Sir?"

            Nemo sighed, and got to his feet. Harry had never realized how tall the man actually was; he stood at least a head above Harry. Nemo placed his palms on the desk and leaned in close to Harry. "Mr. Potter, you should know that Headmaster Dumbledore has apprised me of the prophecy regarding your future."

            Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them again a few moments later, he found he was looking at his feet. "Yes sir."

            "In light of that, it is imperative that you learn as much as you can, and as quickly as you can," Nemo went on, his voice somewhat softer than it had been previously. "As your instructor, I cannot settle to make you proficient in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I must teach you everything I know, and help you to harness the considerable ability that you have."

            Harry nodded but said nothing, preferring instead to examine his shoes in detail.

            "Therefore, I hope that you will agree to some private, one on one tutorials," Nemo said conclusively.

            "With you, sir?" Harry asked.

            "Largely. It is Dumbledore's wish that I teach you Advanced Dueling; in fact, I believe it is the reason he asked me to take this post. I am among the foremost experts in dueling in the world. I realize that may sound vain but such is not my intention; I am a warrior by trade, not a teacher – my success as an Auror relies on an accurate assessment of my own abilities. I shall teach you old, little known magic. I will show you the illegal curses you can expect from the Dark Lord and his followers. I will teach you Shield spells and Healing spells that you won't find in any contemporary text books. I will even teach you the _soi-disant _"Muggle dueling". But the list hardly ends there. During your tutorial sessions, you will work extensively with myself as well as Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Dumbledore himself. I imagine that the training will prove rigorous and even… painful. It would be no light undertaking."

            Harry sighed loudly. "Yes sir."

            "Does that mean you accept?" Nemo asked him.

            Harry looked up at the young Professor in front of him. "Do I have a choice?"

            "Absolutely. We're not going to force you into anything."

            Harry laughed bitterly. "No, _you_ won't. But I can't choose about the fight, can I? Voldemort will come for me whether I want him to or not, won't he? And if I don't kill him, he'll kill me. And after he kills me, he'll kill everyone I ever cared for. He won't stop until he rules the world under his cruel fist. So, yeah, I guess I have a choice. I can either take these lessons, or die painfully and condemn humankind to misery."

            Professor Nemo was silent for a moment. He stood up straight, turned away from Harry, and began pacing the room slowly. He ambled over to the window, and looked out on the green lawn below. "It's hard to believe in evil on a day like this," he remarked, so lowly that Harry wondered if the Professor was talking to himself. "Out there, your classmates are eating lunch on the lawn, giggling and laughing. They talk about final exams, they gossip about who is dating who, they speculate over Quidditch matches. They are free to ignore that the fact that evil exists, and you are free to envy them this. But you must not join them in their ignorance. In fact, you cannot; are not able. Every time you look in the mirror, you see the evidence of evil, right their on your forehead."

            Instinctively, Harry put his fingers to his head, parting the wild, dark hair and fingering his scar tenderly.

            Professor Nemo meanwhile, was unbuttoning his shirt. One, two, three buttons; then he turned to face Harry. On his right breast, directly over his heart, was a three-inch lightning-bolt scar. "You have your reminder, and I have mine. You have a choice to make, just as I did. On one hand, you can spend your life regretting that you are not outside with your classmates in blissful ignorance. You may envy them, but I can assure you that you will never be able to lead a peaceful life like that. It isn't possible. Your other choice, then, is to fight for them, to insure that they may enjoy beautiful days like this one. Your choice, Harry." Professor Nemo buttoned up his shirt quickly, and returned to his desk.

            Harry nodded grimly. "When do I start?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxx

            A delicate rustling noise stirred Harry Potter from his slumber. He opened his eyes slowly, marveling at the brightness of his bedroom. He blinked his eyes dumbly as the Hospital Wing swam into view. Startled, he sat up quickly in bed. Pain flared up his right side, starting in his ribcage and terminating at the base of his skull. He was dizzied for a moment, and nearly toppled over out of the bed, catching himself at the last moment.

            "Mr. Potter, you should lay down," Madame Pomfrey said in a stern voice. She was remaking the bed immediately to his right. She ceased her task and stepped to the side of his bed, hands on her hips, a severe look on her face.

            "Where… What am I doing here?" He asked, looking at her in alarm.

            "Mr. Potter, lay down," She repeated simply.

            "No, I'm fine, really," he protested. He reached out his left hand for a glass of water poised on the table there. His arm wavered feebly in midair, and he felt the dizziness returning. "Okay, maybe you're right." He lay back down.

            Madame Pomfrey took the glass of water and held it to his lips, allowing him to drink his fill. "There ya go," she said in a gentle tone. "Just take it easy."

            "Madame Pomfrey? Why am I here?" Harry asked again, at one time feeling silly for laying in bed so helplessly and likewise being convinced that he was unable to stand.

            "I'm not entirely sure myself," she said angrily. On her face she wore her famous "Don't know what this school is coming to" frown. "I know you ended up on the receiving end of a Concussion Curse from Professor Nemo."

            Harry's memory clicked back into place. He had a vision of dueling with Professor Nemo, and suddenly, a wide arc of orange light-

            "I don't know why he did that mind you," she went on. "That's not magic to be messed around with. I told Professor Dumbledore, of course. I've never had to treat a student for this sort of thing before. That's not the sort of thing one generally encounters in a school. A battlefield, maybe, but not in a _school_."

            "Professor Dumbledore," Harry said quietly. "He didn't tell you what happened?"

            Madame Pomfrey frowned again. "No, just told me to treat you and not worry about why."

            "Then I probably shouldn't tell you, either."

            Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Very well. I trust Master Dumbledore implicitly, so I guess it must remain a secret." She got to her feet and went back to her duties in silence. She finished making the nearest bed, then stopped and looked at Harry delicately. "I must say…" she stopped, looked at her feet, and then went on. "If I were you, I would do my best to avoid any more Concussions Curses that came my way. They simply aren't very good for your health."

            Harry nodded glumly. "Thank you, Madame Pomfrey. I promise I'll do my best." After a few minutes, she finished her tasks in the recovery room and left for other matters. Harry readjusted himself painfully in the bed and tried to sleep. A few hours later, he was interrupted from his shallow rest by the arrival of an unexpected guest.

            "Hey, Harry," Ginny Weasley said in a quiet voice. She sat on the bed to his right, somehow looking smaller than she should have. "How are you feeling?"

            "Pretty well, provided I don't try to move too much," he said, laughing slightly. He was assailed by a fresh wave of pain, which he managed to keep off of his face.

            "What happened to you, anyway?" she asked in a concerned tone. "I saw Professor Nemo carrying you down the hall yesterday afternoon, but he wouldn't tell me what had happened."

            Harry did not speak for a moment, but instead looked at Ginny in silence. Her green eyes, remarkably large for such a small face, were rimmed with bits of red. Harry realized suddenly that she had been crying a lot lately. "I… don't want to talk about it," he told her. It was, after a fashion, the truth. While he very much wanted to tell her all about it, he could not. He had not told any of his friends, not even Ron or Hermione, about the contents of the Prophecy. It was a well known fact that Voldemort was trying to kill him, but the other half of the Prophecy was a closely guarded secret. Harry Potter was being trained to kill the Dark Lord. It was a terrible burden to bear; it took all the strength he had to carry it. As much as he needed to tell someone about it, he could not allow himself to foist that upon his friends.

            Ginny blinked in surprise. "Um… okay," she said stiffly. "So, are you going to be out of here soon?"

            Harry nodded. "I think so, anyway."

            "That's good."  
            They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment. "So… um, have you seen Hermione and Ron?" he asked hesitantly.

            "More than I care to," she laughed. "Seems like they're everywhere these days. If they're not making out in a janitorial closet, they're cuddling on the couch in the common room. I don't think they've left each others side since they got together."

            "Oh, I see," said Harry sadly, looking away.

            "Oh, don't be like that," Ginny snapped, perhaps more harshly than she had intended. When she went on, it was in a softer voice. "They were here, you know. All night yesterday, until Madame Pomfrey kicked them out. They've been stopping in today between classes, even. But you never woke up. Just because they're dating now doesn't mean that they've forgotten you, you know."

            Harry nodded, embarrassed. "You're right," he said lowly.

            Ginny sighed, and then changed the topic. "I guess you didn't even see Millicent Bulstrode, did you?"

            Harry looked at her without comprehending. "No, I didn't. What happened?"

            Ginny's eye went a little wide. "She got into a dirty fight with Pansy. Right in the middle of the Great Hall, at breakfast. Pansy hit her with a nasty Stunning Spell, I think. Put her right out."

            "Wow," Harry breathed. "That Pansy… she's a pretty tough girl."

            "Yeah, she really is. Professor Dumbledore was livid. Apparently they're both in for some serious detentions."

            "No kidding," Harry said, impressed. "I thought they were friends."

            Ginny gave him a surprised look. "Not all Slytherins get along, Harry."

            "I guess not," He said. "What was the fight about?"

            "I have no idea. A lot of people are saying it was a lovers' quarrel, but I don't think so."

            "Don't think Pansy, um, swings that way?"

            "It's not that. I just don't think she's interested in Millicent."

            "Oh," Harry said dumbly. "Is Pansy a… lesbian?"

            Ginny fidgeted. "I don't think so, but I think she's… well, _batted for both teams_, if you know what I mean."

            "You seem to know a lot about the Slytherins, Ginny," Harry said quickly, then immediately regretted it.

            Ginny's face contorted for a second, and it looked as if she was about to cry. She regained her composure and went on. "Well, you know, you pick up on a thing or two when you date a Slytherin."

            Harry nodded solemnly. "How, um, how was that, exactly? Was it that hard on you?"

            Ginny dabbed at her left eye. "No, it was… uh, pretty good, until the end."

            Harry nodded again. "Look, I'm sorry-"

            "No, it's okay," she said. "I was meaning to tell you… Thanks."

            "For what?" he asked, perplexed.

            "For coming to get me out of there. I don't know that I would have made it on my own."

            "Oh, that was nothing, Ginny. I was glad to help."

            Ginny nodded, still seeming on the verge of tears.

            "Ginny, if there's anything I can do for you," Harry said slowly. "You just have to ask. You know that, don't you? Even if you just want to talk. I'm there for you."

            "Thanks, Harry. Look, I'd better go. It's almost dinnertime." She got to her feet.

            "Yeah. No problem. Hang on a sec," he said. He took a deep breath, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up shakily. It was not as bad as he thought it would be. He wrapped both of his arms around the younger girl and squeezed her as tightly as he was able. She finally let loose the waterworks, wetting the front of his smock with her tears. He held her there for a moment, letting her unleash the torrent of emotion trapped inside of her. After a few minutes, his knees buckled and he fell back into bed, nearly pulling Ginny on top of him in the process.

            Ginny laughed a little, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "I guess I'd better let you rest."

            "Yeah, looks like it," he said, laughing in spite of the pain.

            "Thank you, Harry."

            "Any time, Ginny. Any time." After she had left, Harry laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a single thought running through his mind. He was going to have to do something particularly nasty to Draco Malfoy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry hobbled down the wide stone corridors to the Dungeons. He was already running late, and the fact that he was still rather weak was not helping matters. He had left the Hospital Wing that morning, over the protests of Madame Pomfrey of course, knowing full well that Professor Snape was going to tear him a new Spell-hole.

            "Harry!" Professor Nemo shouted, spotting him from across the hall, and walking over toward him. "How are you feeling?"

            "Better," Harry said. "Thanks."

            Professor Nemo looked around quickly, making sure that no one was around to hear their conversation. "Listen, Harry, I'm very sorry about that."

            "Don't be," Harry said, trying to sound tougher than he felt. "It'll teach me to keep my guard up."

            Nemo nodded grimly. "I have been looking over some of the notes left by Mad Eye Moody – or rather, from Bartemius Crouch Jr. – and I found something interesting. Is it true that you have some degree of resistance to the Imperius Curse?"

            "I believe so, sir," Harry answered.

            "Fascinating," Nemo said, his face showing something like awe. "If this is true, it could be a potential weapon for us. If Dumbledore is willing, we will have to experiment with that. Will you be ready for another session?"

            Harry considered it. "Yeah, no problem. We'd better make it tomorrow, though. I'm still running a little slowly."

            "Of course, Harry," Nemo said sensitively. "Have you been reading those materials I gave you?"  
            "As much as I can; I've been reading them on the sly," Harry answered. "Was I right in suspecting that no one is to know about these training sessions?"

            Nemo nodded sullenly. "I think that would be for the best."

            "I'll give them as much time as I can, sir," He said politely. "I had better get on to class. Snape will eat my lunch for being late as it is."

            "Here, hang on a second," Nemo said. He pulled out a slip of paper and a quill and scribbled furiously on it for a second. "Take this."

            Harry accepted the Hall Pass and made his way down into the dungeons. He stepped through the door to Snape's classroom and found his way to his seat, right next to Hermione in the back of the room.

            "Ah, Mr. Potter," Snape sneered. "Tell me something, will you? How is it that you have the nerve to show up late to my class after missing the entire period yesterday?"

            "Sorry," Harry said without conviction. "I have a note from Professor Nemo." He held up the slip of paper.

            "_Accio_," Snape hissed. The note zoomed across the room and into his waiting hands. He read the note in a flash, then wadded it up and threw it in the wastebasket. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

            Harry thought he heard Hermione squeak. Knowing better than to press his luck, Harry took his seat and pulled out his notes. During his first five years at Hogwarts, he had thought that Snape's Potions class was the least pleasant experience one could have. Now in his sixth year, he had to revise that opinion; Snape's NEWT level Potions class was worse than any class he had previously gone through. While most of the student body had dropped Potions that year, he had signed on to find himself in a class of eighteen students, of which fifteen were Slytherin. Hermione had signed up for the class principally because she was not sure what her career would be, and wanted to keep her options open. The only other non-Slytherin in the room was Mandy Brocklehurst of Ravenclaw.

            "Now, before that _rude_ interruption, I believe we were discussing Contortion Potions. As those of you who were good enough to show up yesterday are aware, these are extremely complicated potions. Can anyone remind me what they are used for?"

            Half a dozen hands raised in the air, including Harry's.

            "Potter? I doubt you would have been able to tell me even if you had been here yesterday," Snape spat out. "Mr. Malfoy?"

            Harry lost control. "Sir! Contortion Potions are used to reshape or at least soften mediums that are naturally resistant to conventional Transfiguration spells!" He shouted. A few heads turned to look at him in awe. Pansy was looking at him with a mix of surprise and respect.

            "Harry? How did you know that?" Hermione whispered.

            Harry ignored her, locking eyes instead with the Potions Master.  

            "Mr. Potter!" Snape hissed. "Did you not hear me call on Draco?"

            "I was right, wasn't I?" Harry pressed.

            "What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked, a little more loudly than before.

            "That isn't the question. The issue here is one of discipline," Snape said sinisterly. "An additional twenty points from Gryffindor." He turned away from Harry and took a step toward the front of the classroom.

            "You're a pathetic, little man," Harry said loudly and plainly.

            "WHAT?" Snape roared, whirling back around.

            "I said, YOU ARE A PATHETIC, LITTLE MAN," Harry repeated, enunciating each syllable loudly and clearly. "You are a laughable excuse for a human being. I pity you almost enough to stop hating you, _sir_."

            Professor Snape's face went white. "One hundred points from Gryffindor and Detention," he snarled.

            Hermione's notebook slipped out of her hand and hit the dungeon floor with an ominous clatter. No one seemed to notice.

            Snape went on. "And if you ever-"

            "It was worth it," Harry cut him off. "Just so long as you know how I feel about you."

            Snape stared at him in disbelief. "Get out, Potter. Go directly to the Headmaster's office. Do not ever darken my door again."

            Harry laughed, gathering up the items he had barely unpacked. He threw his bag over his shoulder and waltzed out of the classroom triumphantly. He marched all the way to Dumbledore's office, humming a little tune to himself that he could not quite place. Ten minutes later, he sat across the desk from the Headmaster, his mood not in the least diminished by the appalled look on the old man's face.

            "What is the meaning of this, Harry?" Dumbledore inquired, holding up a sheet of paper in his hand, evidently sent by Express Owl from Professor Snape.

            "I had enough," Harry said simply.

            Ten feet overhead and fifteen behind, Fawkes the Phoenix sounded a single note of concern.

            "Harry, I cannot allow this manner of behavior."

            "No?" Harry shot back angrily. "Then I guess you will just have to expel me."

            "Harry-"

            "No. I've taken enough from that man. I know you're probably disappointed in me, or whatever, but that's okay, too. I would be even more disappointed with myself if I had taken any more crap from Snape."

            "Professor Snape, Harry."  
            "Not to me, he isn't. I think I'll just call him Severus from now on. Or maybe Snivellus. That has a good ring to it. And if that isn't okay, then I'll just get my things and go."

            "Where would you go?"

            Harry shrugged. "Hogsmeade? Diagon Alley? A comfy bed and breakfast somewhere? It doesn't matter."

            Dumbledore frowned. "You know that Lord Voldemort would kill you within twenty-four hours."

            Harry nodded grimly, but did not back down. "I guess he would, wouldn't he? And then you guys would be in some pretty serious trouble, wouldn't you?"

            Dumbledore looked nonplussed. "Do you intend to use the Prophecy as a bargaining chip?"

            Harry frowned. He really did not have any complaint with Dumbledore, and he was aware that he had put the Headmaster in a fairly compromised position. "No. Not really. I am not demanding anything. I think I've been… pretty good about all of this, so far, haven't I? Even though it is _my life_ we're putting on the line here. Even though Voldemort may not have to kill me, because Nemo might just beat him to it. I do not ask for any special treatment at all. I am merely saying that I am unwilling to take any more of Snape's abuse. From there, I guess the ball is in your court."

            "What of your Potions education?" Dumbledore inquired. "I can force Snape to readmit you to his class, but-"

            "Don't bother," Harry said gruffly. "I can learn it from a textbook, on my own. He's a lousy teacher, anyway, unless you happen to be a Slytherin."

            The Headmaster nodded. "So be it. If you are still interested in being an Auror, you will need to score at least an E on your Potions NEWT. If you feel that you can do that on your own, I will trust your judgment."

            "I believe I can."

            "I shall avail you of the proper texts, and give you the materials you will need to practice Potions on your own. Then that only leaves one issue," Dumbledore said quietly but seriously. "I cannot tolerate this manner of reckless insubordination in my school, regardless of the circumstances."

            Harry pondered it for a moment. "Sir, I have been waiting to say those things to Snape since my first year. I understand that there may be consequences for my action, but whatever they might be, I believe they were worth it."

            Dumbledore seemed a little surprised, but pleased. "Then we will arrange a suitable detention for you. Perhaps you can join Ms. Parkinson with her task, in fact." The old man smiled, a twinkle in his eyes.

            Harry elected not to address this.

            "Harry, I should point out to you that the deductions Snape made from your house – 130 points in total – will also stand. In case you decide that you have any thing else to say to Professor Snape, please remember that you may have already cost your house the Cup."

            Harry stared at him for a moment, then broke into a big grin. "That's all right, we'll make it up. Hermione's an egghead."

            Professor Dumbledore gave an astonished look for a second, and then broke into a generous round of laughter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry grasped both hands firmly on the shaft of his shovel, raised it a few inches, and drove it down forcefully into the rocky soil. The tip of the blade sank halfway into the reluctant ground. Harry stepped heavily on the implement, first with one foot, then the other, and finally jumping down on it with both feet, until the business end of the tool was underground.

            "It's nice of them to go so easy on us," Pansy grunted, struggling with her own shovel. "I have never longed for a wand so much in my life."

            Harry laughed. Their detention assignment was to dig a row of holes all the way around the castle, at a distance of about fifty yards from the outside wall. Into each hole they would drop seeds furnished by Professor Sprout, then refill the holes. The magical trees would take under a year to grow to their full (and considerable) height. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that they were designed as another layer of protection from outside attack. At the pace they were working, they would be at it for the better part of the week. "So, what are you in for?" he asked, gesturing to their work before them.

            "You didn't hear about it?" She asked.

            "Well, I heard that you had a misunderstanding with Millicent Bulstrode. But I don't know why."

            Pansy grimaced. "She said something she shouldn't have," she said simply.

            "Ah. So what you mean is that we are both here for the same reason?"

            "I guess you could say that," she agreed. "That was some show you put on in Potions, by the way."

            "You know, no matter how bad this work is, it was worth it. I am going to remember that moment for the rest of my life, I think."

            Pansy laughed. "Well, they're doing their best to make sure we suffer for our moments of fun."

            Harry nodded understandingly. "It's not all that bad," he said, pulling a mound of dirt and stubborn roots out of the ground. "My first detention was considerably worse."

            Pansy stopped her work, and leaned against her shovel, stuck in the dirt. "Was that the one you served with Draco? Back in our first year?"

            "Yeah. We could easily have been killed – we ran into Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest."

            Pansy shuddered visibly. "I wish you wouldn't say his name," she said after a moment.

            "I'm sorry, Pansy," Harry said quietly. And he was. A curiosity sparked in his mind. "Say, are your parents, um-"

            "Deatheaters?" she snapped.

            Harry looked away, sticking his shovel back into the ground.

            "No, Potter, they aren't." Pansy sounded a bit disgusted. "Not every pure-blood supports You-Know-Who."

            "Right," Harry said sheepishly. He repeated the shovel procedure, pulling up another lump of gray dirt. He noticed that Pansy had stopped working, and was staring at him angrily. He leaned against his shovel as well and returned her gaze. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by the question. I was just asking because… well, because you told Malfoy that you had a reason to hate me. I assumed it was because your parents were Deatheaters."

            "Oh," she said. She pondered over this a moment, then resumed her work.

            "Hey!" Harry exclaimed.

            "What?"

            "So, why do you hate me?" He asked slowly.

            Pansy did not answer immediately, her expression unreadable. "The usual reasons, Lord Potter. For beating us in the house championships every year. For making an ass out of Draco whenever you get the chance. For being a half-blood. For catching the Golden Snitch every time. For winning the Tri-Wizard Tournament. For having your name in the Daily Prophet every day. For never getting in trouble. Every good Slytherin hates you, Lord Potter."

            Harry listened to Pansy's tirade patiently.

            When finished, she looked away from him and resumed her digging. She pulled up three more shovelfuls and then hissed at Harry: "Well, what are you looking at? Get back to work!"

            "You're not a very good Slytherin, are you?"

            Pansy dropped her shovel. "I don't think you have the right to say that," she said hotly. "My blood is as pure as anyone else's. I've got a need to prove myself. I think you'll find I'm more clever than most people give me credit for. And I always look out for Number One." She looked him directly in the eye, challenging him to disagree.

            "But you don't hate Harry Potter," he said slowly, gauging her reaction carefully.

            "Now you're telling me who I hate?" she asked, incredulous.

            "What's more, you don't care in the least about Quidditch matches or House Championships. You don't mind so much when I make an ass out of Draco, in fact, you probably enjoy it. You don't stand by your Housemates in their rivalry with Gryffindor because you are the only person in the school who dislikes the Slytherins more than we do."

            Pansy laughed. "You think so, Potter?"

            "Yeah. I do."

            "Well-"

            But Pansy stopped herself short, watching in surprise as a small owl descended from the Owlery and landed on the end of Harry's shovel, which was stuck in the dirt. Bewildered, Harry pulled the note from the ankle of the bird and read it quickly.

            To the Official Hogwarts Liaison of WWW:

                    Dungbombs in the North Tower

                    Thursday at 7 pm

                    Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle

            "What is it?" Pansy asked.

            "What time is it?" Harry said in answer.

            "I'm not really sure. What is it?"

            Harry was saved the need to answer when a chorus of screams coming from the school. They looked up toward the source of the uproar to see billows of smoke pouring from the windows of the North Tower.

            Harry handed the sheet of paper to Pansy, who read it quickly.

            "It's started, Pansy."


	4. Chapter Four

_            Kerchunk! Sniiiiikt. Flumf!Kerchunk! Sniiiiikt. Flumf! Kerchunk! Sniiiiikt. Flumf! _

The sounds of earnest digging were interrupted by Pansy's concerned voice. "You alright over there, Scarhead?"

            Harry dug his shovel deep into the tough soil. _Kerchunk__! _"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?" He hopped on the top of the blade, driving it completely underground. _Sniiikt__.___

"You look a little pale, that's all."

            _Flumf__._ Harry wiped his brow. He had come to the day's detention straight from his training with Professor Nemo. They had been working with the Imperius Curse. The good news was that, by the end of the session, Harry had been able to throw the spell off completely. Unfortunately, this success came at the end of several hours of exhaustive effort, leaving Harry totally drained for his menial labor assignment. Gritting his teeth Harry pulled out the next shovelful: _Kerchunk__! Sniiiiikt. Flumf! _

"Maybe you had better sit down for a few minutes," Pansy said.

            Harry tried not to look startled. "Nah, I'm fine. Just a little tired. I guess I haven't been slipping very well lately." He made a point of not looking at Pansy as he said this.

            "Uh-huh," the Slytherin girl answered, sounding unconvinced. She finished the particular hole she had been working on, and dropped a seed into it from the pouch at her waist. The seeds they had planted just the day before, under Professor Sprout's expert care, had already turned into foot-tall seedlings. "Say, Potter."

            _Flumf__! Kerchunk! _"What?"

            "What were you in the Hospital Wing for?"

            "Oh. I had, er, an accident in Professor Nemo's classroom. He was trying to show me a spell, and it went astray."

            "Hmmm," Pansy muttered. It was mutually evident that he was lying to her. "Sounds pretty careless."

            Harry took a deep breath and stabbed the ground with his spade again. "Yeah, I guess so."

            Pansy changed the subject. "So, today, some one let off a Contagious Laughing Charm in Professor Binns' classroom. Apparently, it took him the better part of half an hour to notice."

            Harry laughed. "Yeah, I heard about that."

            "You mean you knew about it before it happened, right?" she asked. "It was for that contest, wasn't it?"

            Harry nodded. "Yeah. A second year-girl in Ravenclaw. Nobody I know."

            "Incredible," she said, laughing. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

            Harry swayed visibly on the spot, leaned against his shovel for support. "What do

you say we take a breather?" he suggested. "I think I'd like to dip my feet in the Lake."

            Pansy considered it for a moment. "Yeah, okay."

            Abandoning shovels, seed bags and misplaced earth, the two students made their way over to the lakeside. They kicked off their shoes and put their feet into the cold waters. "Ah, that's nice," Harry breathed. He cupped his hands into the water splashed his face with it.

            "How much longer do you think we'll be working on this digging project?" she asked.

            Harry scratched his head. "Well, I figure we graduate in a little over eighteen months, and they can't make us keep working after that. At least I hope not."

            Pansy laughed. "That's what I thought."

            Harry was thinking hard, staring at the pristine waters of the Lake. Deep underneath, he knew, were a town of Merpeople, a large nest of grindylows, and a giant Squid. All he could think about, though, was the immense amounts of water.

            "Pansy?"

            "Yeah, Harry?"

            He blinked in surprise. She had never called him that before. "I have a really brilliant idea, but I need some help with it."

            "Oh?"

            "Yeah, I was thinking of something, well, rather unpleasant for your housemates, particularly Draco."

            Pansy clapped her hands together in delight. "What is it?"

            "Well, do you remember our first year of History of Magic? When Professor Binns was lecturing about the Sumerian Wizarding farms?"

            Pansy gave him a suspicious look. "You mean to tell me that you pay attention in that class?"

            "Sometimes it comes to me in my dreams, like osmosis. Anyway, there was a spell in my notes for irrigation. The Sumerian wizard farmers would essentially magick water from a nearby stream into a holding area in their farms," Harry told her. "If done correctly, the spell could potentially relocate, well, an _immense_ amount of water. I mean, we've got the water source right here in front of us. All I really need to know is the exact dimensions and location of Draco's room."

            Pansy put her hand over her mouth in surprise, but he could tell she was beaming underneath it. "I think I can supply that information."

            In the distance, they heard the loud clack of a dinner bell.

            "Ooh, let's go," Pansy said. She jumped to her feet, grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him up.

            "Oh, hey, Pansy, that reminds me. Do you like the pudding they serve with dinner?" he asked innocently.

            "Yeah, it's alright," she said, putting her shoes back on. "Why?"

            "Well, I got a note from… well… it's better if you don't know that. Anyway, I got a note right before I came down here. I think you might want to avoid the pudding tonight."

            "Will do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry leaned back in his seat, patting his stomach pleasantly. He felt entirely rejuvenated from the days' efforts after a pleasant, filling dinner. He was just contemplating cutting out of dinner a little early and taking a nap when he caught sight of Pansy, sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table. Three seats removed her from her nearest housemate. Harry frowned. He felt sorry for her; eating alone three meals a day must get lonely.

            "Dear, do you mind sharing that pudding?"

            "Certainly, Ron."

            Harry was pulled from his sympathetic notions just in time to watch his two closest friends, Ron and Hermione, each shovel a mouthful of chocolate pudding into the other's mouth.

            "NO!" Harry hissed, taking the bowl away from them. He watched them in horror for a second, their quizzical faces staring back at him.

            "I think I'm a little young to be watching my weight, don't you?" Ron asked, perplexed.

            Hermione tried something else. "I know this dish was made by the House Elves, and I _am_ concerned for their ethical treatment-"

            Harry did not understand. Had he read the note on the date wrong? He was almost positive that the Creevey Brothers had picked tonight to infiltrate the Hogwarts kitchen and lace the pudding with—

            "Grrbbrmmph!"

            A spray of dark, mottled fluid raced across the tabletop and splattered across Harry. Ron looked noxious, a thin strand of the same juice hanging from the corner of his mouth. Hermione, who had obviously been making a Herculean effort to hold hers in, also lost her lunch at the disgusting sight. From there, it spread out in waves across the Great Hall, with Harry at the epicenter. The air was rent with the sounds of regurgitation, screams of dismay, and the nastiest splashing sound Harry had ever heard. Looking around, Harry soon realized that the infection was pandemic; everyone who had tried the Puking Pastille Pudding was upchucking violently. Even at the staff table, Professor Snape tossed his cookies into the lap of Professor Flitwick, who in turn barfed on the table top itself, causing Professor McGonagall to ralph on Dumbledore's shoes. Harry did his best not to make eye contact with the Headmaster.

            Nor was he the only one. At the end of the Gryffindor table nearest the staff table, the Creevey brothers sat with their backs to the administration. They were both retching powerfully, Harry noticed, but the triumphant look on their face showed that they were the only ones prepared to be doing so.

            The vomitorium raged for several minutes. At the far end of the Slytherin table, a young girl could be seen laughing hysterically in the midst of the chaos.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry lay in bed that night, staring at the roof of his four-poster contemplatively. He was exhausted, of course, but was not quite ready for sleep. His mind kept floating back to the soft, pale face of a certain brunette, sitting beside him at the lake. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He focused on the Aegis Charm that Professor Nemo had highlighted in Harry's notes, tried to remember the wand movement that triggered it. His mind wandered from there to the Irrigation Spell he planned to employ the following morning, and then found himself dwelling on Pansy again.

            "That was bloody disgusting," Ron announced, stepping into the dormitory. He had been in the bathroom for the previous half-hour, apparently brushing his teeth the whole time.

            Harry laughed. "Yeah, that was classic."

            "You could have warned us," Ron said sorely.

            Harry tried not to laugh again. "Seriously, mate, it just slipped my mind."

            Ron sighed, crawled into his own bed. "Is there anything else I need to look out for, you know, while you're thinking about it?"

            Harry smiled to himself. "Okay. You might want to steer clear of the Slytherin House in the morning."

            "That shouldn't be a problem," Ron answered.

            "You know what? On second thought, you might swing by the dungeons anyway, just to check it out. It ought to be worth watching."

            "Maybe I'll do that," Ron answered, still sounding resentful.

            The next morning, Harry was awakened by a series of powerful fireworks outside Gryffindor Tower. Sleepily, he wandered over to the window and looked out, observing the magic of Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs (Deflagration Deluxe edition). Harry laughed a little, wondering how much merchandise WWW was moving with this contest, and then went down to breakfast at the normal time.

            The scene that confronted him was comic. The entire student body, as well as many of the faculty, was staring at each other suspiciously. Hardly anyone spoke, but ate in grave silence, inspecting their food carefully before each mouthful. Harry had been pretty impressed with Dennis and Colin's prank. Getting into the kitchen was hardly difficult once one knew how. However, they had managed to sabotage dessert without getting caught. This meant that they had persuaded the House Elves to keep their secret, or else gotten in and out with being observed. Harry could not imagine how they could have accomplished either.

            Harry took his usual seat next to Ron and across from Hermione. As near as he could tell, they were still sulking about their last meal. He ignored them and pulled his plate close to him. He pulled his wand out of his robes and performed a quick Treachery search. Satisfied, he began eating voraciously.

            "Harry?" Hermione asked hesitantly. "Do you think you can teach me that sometime?"

            "Sure thing," Harry replied, smiling.

            "So, how have you been lately, anyway?" she persisted. "It seems like we never see each other any more."  
            Harry sighed. She had a point. The three of them had been virtually inseparable during their first five years at Hogwarts. However, since Hermione and Ron had been dating, they hardly saw each other outside of class. Harry had been particularly busy of late, of course, with detention, extra lessons with Professor Nemo, and his duties as the Liaison for WWW. "I've been getting along," he mumbled. "How about you guys?"

            "Pretty 'ood," Ron said through a mouthful of food.

            Hermione nodded in agreement.

            "How's… um, you know, being together?" he asked tenderly. It was the first time it had really come up in conversation between them.

            "It's wonderful," they said in one voice.

            Harry smiled, feeling authentically glad for them.

            "So, Harry, what's going on?"

            Dennis and Colin Creevey, looking more alike with the passing day, appeared across the table from Harry, next to Hermione.

            "Hey there, guys," Harry said.

            "We were wondering if we might have a look at the standings," Dennis said immediately.

            "Come again?" Harry asked.

            "Well, we just wanted to know," Colin said, looking around conspiratorially and whispering the rest; "If our little prank last night put us in the lead."

            Ron dropped his fork. "That was you guys?"  
            Harry laughed. "You know, if I were you two, I'd keep that under my hat. I have so far."

            "Ah," said Dennis.

            "I see," Colin echoed.

            "I'm going to make you suffer for that," Hermione said, her voice savage but quiet.

            The Creevey brothers beamed in response.

            "I have to tell you, boys, that was a neat trick," Harry told them. "I was impressed, anyway. But I am not in charge of the scoring. I simply give the results to the Twins, and they figure it out. They haven't sent me any updates yet."

            Dennis frowned. "Well, what do you think? I mean, just your personal opinion?"

            Harry laughed. "I think it's very early in the month to be concerned. I think there's a full day ahead of us."

            The two boys smiled at him in unison. "We're far from done," Dennis assured him, and the two departed together.

            Owl post arrived shortly later, and Harry received no less than seven envelopes. He opened the first one. "Hmmm. Maybe you guys want to stay clear of the staff room around noon. Looks like Justin Finch-Fletchley is taking a page out of Lee Jordan's book."

            "Niffler?" Hermione guessed.

            "Nifflers," Harry corrected. "A dozen of them."

            "Oh boy," Ron breathed.

            Harry opened the next one. He recognized the scrawl at once:

To the Official Hogwarts Liaison of WWW:

                    Dungbombs in the Library

                    Tuesday at noon

                    Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle

          "Hmm, points for originality," Harry muttered. He looked at Hermione. "Maybe you should take your lunch break outside today. Looks like the library is going to be a little chaotic.

            "Sure thing," Hermione said.

            "Got it," Ron chimed.

            Harry stopped for a moment, and then turned to give Ron a withering look. "Don't tell me she's got you eating lunch in the library now."

            Ron flushed red.

            "Great." Harry opened another letter. "Hmmm… maybe you should just take your lunch break in Gryffindor tower."

            Hermione and Ron rolled their eyes, but agreed.

            After breakfast, while all of the students were dispersing to their various classes, Harry stole down into the dungeons. He came to a halt next to the statue of Sir Bruce the Ignoble, a towering night mounted on horseback. Pansy appeared momentarily later. "Follow me," she whispered fiercely, and led Harry down a side corridor and into the girls' bathroom. "Don't worry, no one will be in here," she told him, assuaging his concern. "The spell requires that the caster stand physically between the source of the water and the point of delivery, so our options are limited."

            "Very well," Harry agreed. "We had better hurry. It will look suspicious if we are late to class."

            "Besides," Pansy said, smiling maliciously and patting the wall closest to them. "Draco's bedroom is directly on the other side of this wall."

            Harry returned her devious grin. "Excellent."

            "The ceiling is exactly ten feet high, but the room is fairly good sized. It spans about fifteen feet in each direction from about… here." She tapped a marked brick on the wall.

            "What's that?" Harry asked.

            "Draco's peephole," she said laughing. He pulls out that brick from time to time so he can spy on anyone dumb enough to use this restroom."  
            "Eww."

            "Yeah. That's why no one uses this restroom anymore."

            Harry laughed. "Perfect."

            "All right, let's do this."

            As predetermined, they would each create one irrigation port into the Slytherin dungeon. That way, they were equal partners in the project – and equally guilty. Harry cast his into Draco's bedroom, and Pansy (more familiar with the layout) put a separate one in the common room. They focused for a moment on the spaces they had visualized, as well as a place at the bottom of the lake, and said the words of the spell.

            "Did it work?" Pansy asked, excitement in her voice.

            "Listen!" Harry whispered. On the other side of the wall next to them, they could faintly hear the sound of flowing water.

            "Oh wow," Pansy exclaimed. "It sounds like a river in there."

            "I think that means we'd better go," Harry said, pulling the door open for her.

            "Right," she raced through the entrance and he followed quickly. "Bye Harry. I'll see you in detention!" She disappeared around a corner.

            Harry raced out of the dungeons and up to Transfiguration, arriving just in time to beat the bell. He took his seat next to Ron and Hermione, beaming brightly from ear to ear.

            "Uh oh," Ron said, a look of fascination betraying him.

            "Do we want to know?" Hermione asked quietly.

            "If everything goes according to plan," Harry whispered. "Everyone will know before lunchtime."

            "Oh dear," Hermione said.

            Harry did his best to calm himself down. He was slightly out of breath following his flight from the dungeons. More than that, however, was an implacable feeling of exhilaration. His nerves were pulsing with excitement, and he could scarcely sit still. The general sensation was strengthened by the fact that he seemed to have gotten away clean.

            Professor McGonagall arrived a moment later, her robes slightly singed and her hair tousled wildly. "Sorry I'm late, class," she said. "I've been outside cleaning up the last of those blasted fireworks." She cast a withering look around the class room, encompassing each of the students. Harry did his best to look surprised. Dean Thomas seemed particularly nervous, and Harry knew why.

            "Today, we will be working on a difficult transfiguration," Professor McGonagall went on. She raised her wand and conjured a set of metal lunchboxes, one atop each student desk. "Today, I will ask you turn these lunchboxes into a creature that you might not be very familiar with. This is an armadillo." She pulled out a giant poster of the strangest looking creature Harry had ever seen.

            "Now, it is your lack of knowledge about these creatures which will prove most difficult. All you will have to go on will be this poster."

            Harry shrugged. He pulled out his wand, aimed it at his silver lunchbox, and neatly produced an armadillo, nearly identical to the one on the poster. Professor McGonagall caught his eye, and they exchanged a knowing look. During his extra training sessions, he had occasionally worked with her on Transfiguration spells. He had noticed that his abilities in class had risen exponentially as a result. Before anyone noticed, Harry turned his armadillo back into the lunchbox, and feigned struggling with it.

            On the fifth try, Hermione managed to produce a live armadillo, albeit somewhat blocky in build.

            "Wow," Ron breathed, clearly astonished.

            "Nice work, Hermione," Harry said, doing his best to seem impressed.  
          The diligent work of the sixth-year Gryffindors was interrupted at this point by the arrival of a very unsettled Professor Snape. "Minerva!" he sputtered. "Where is the Headmaster?"

            Professor McGonagall eyed the Potions master with a look of dismay. "He has gone to Ministry today. Why?"

            "My classroom is flooding!"

            Harry's eyes went wide in shock. "Oh boy," he muttered under his breath. How was that possible? Snape's classroom was across the building from the Slytherin common room. He knew that his spell had hit the mark – they could hear it through the wall – but had Pansy misplaced her portal?

            "Where is the water coming from, Severus?" McGonagall asked anxiously.

            "I'm not sure. The dungeons are almost completely underwater!" He exclaimed.

            Harry understood very suddenly. They had not made an error of location, but one of volume. They had figured that the irrigation portals would flood the Slytherin house in a matter of hours. Instead, they had filled up the lower section of the building in fifteen minutes! For what it was worth, he must have looked just as surprised as everyone else in the classroom.

            "Okay, class," McGonagall said urgently. "Continue working on your Transfiguration assignment. When you are done, affix a note to your armadillo with your name on it, and leave it in the cage for me to grade." She quickly conjured a steel cage large enough to hold all of their projects, and hurried out the door after Professor Snape.

            "Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling.

            "Yes," he said glumly. He wasted no time but scribbled his name on a scrap of paper. "A slight miscalculation." He easily switched the lunch box in front of him back into an armadillo (structurally identical to the pictorial one) and quickly affixed the note to it.

            "Mate, how-"

            "Sorry, friends, I have to go check this out," he said, cutting Ron off. He grabbed his things, dropped the armadillo inside the cage, and left the room at a brisk walk. He raced to the nearest stairwell and began descending steps two at a time. Professor McGonagall's classroom was on the second floor of Hogwarts, so he was scarcely down the first flight before he was wading knee-deep in dirty, brown water. "Oh boy."

            The scene at ground level was one of sheer pandemonium. Everywhere Harry looked, students were crossing a wide expanse of open water that should have been the ground floor, carrying their bags over their head and exclaiming. Books, bits of paper, and even a few stray desks floated around in the soft current. The water, which appeared to be bubbling up from the vicinity of the great hall (and the dungeons below that) was still rising. Soon the flood waters would reach the front doors of the building, and run off outside, likely back into the lake.

            ""Arry!" came a gruff voice. Harry whirled around to see the gigantic form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts Keeper of Keys and Professor for Care of Magical Creatures, bounding through the murky waters. A pair of first-years were thrown over each shoulder. "Blasted thing!" he exclaimed. "Don't know where all the water's a' comin' from!"

            "Oh boy," Harry mumbled. "What's going on, Hagrid?"

            "Ah don't know," the man admitted. "Better clear out, though, we're going to have to evacuate the building." With that, the lumbering form of Hagrid past, slogging on through the flood.

            "Oh boy."

            Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see Pansy, grinning as if Christmas had come a little early. She was carrying no bag, and seemed to have lost her shoes. She had hiked her skirt up to the middle of her thigh, but it was still dipped in the waters.

            "Come here," she whispered, pulling him around a corner. They found a quiet closet off of a side-hallway, and slipped inside of it. The water in the little room was nearly to their waists.

            "Isn't this great?" she exclaimed as soon as they were safely inside.

            "Oh boy," Harry mumbled again.     

            "What? Aren't you pleased?" she asked innocently. "Sure, it's a little more than we'd planned, but isn't it all the better this way?"

            "I guess," Harry said, giving her a small nervous laugh.  
            "Harry, how big did you make your irrigation portal?" she asked suddenly.

            Harry thought about it for a moment. "No bigger than Draco's room, I guess."

            Pansy laughed hysterically. "That would explain it, then. I made my about this big." She gestured, holding her hands about shoulder length apart. "I mean, really! We were taking that water from the _bottom_ of the lake. Can you imagine how much force was pushing the water through those portals!"

            Harry thought about it. "Oh boy."

            "You don't know the half of it," she went on. "It seems we got a little more than water through those portals."

            "What?"

            "Last I heard, the Giant Squid was ravaging down the hallways in front of Snape's classroom!"

            "Ohboyohboyohboy!" Harry exclaimed, his words coming out in a long, single breath.

            "Quit saying that!" Pansy giggled. She cracked the door open and peered outside. "I think the water will be getting to the Great Doors soon. Then it will level off. Hmmm. I hope this doesn't uproot any of the trees we planted! They'd probably make us do it again!"

            Harry shrugged. That was the least of his concerns at the moment.

            "Although…" Pansy said, suddenly serious. "I can think of worse ways to spend my time." She smiled at him.

            Harry smiled back. "Thanks."

            "Good work today," she whispered.   
            "You too."

            In a fluid motion, she grabbed the front of his moist robes, pulled him closer to her, and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "I'll see you later, Harry," she said slyly, and disappeared through the open door.

            "Oh boy."

            Harry emerged from the enclave a moment later, still dazed. What on earth had just happened? He had to admit that he was rather pleased by the event, although terribly surprised. Things were going absolutely crazy in that school, in ways that had nothing to do with the water that now came up to his chest.

            The flood from below had reached the level of the Front doors, and all new material was rapidly gushing outside. While this meant that the waters were no longer rising, it meant there was now a powerful surface current. If he was not careful, he'd end up in the lake. Harry seized a handrail that ran along the wall, and struggled back toward the entrance hall.

            There were no longer any students in sight, but a cluster of teachers were gathered at one side of the hall, next to the entrance to the Great Hall. Harry's path brought him within earshot.

            "Mr. Vector," he heard McGonagall saying. "Go and find Mrs. Hooch. Use all of the school brooms to evacuate the students from the upper levels. I can't have any of them wandering through this!"

            Professor Vector nodded astutely, and wandered off against the pull of the current.

            "Professor Snape, go and assist Madame Pomfrey in setting up a medical tent outside, in case of any injuries."

            "As you command," the greasy-haired Potions master responded, and left to do her bidding.

            "Harry Potter!"

            He had been spotted. "Yes, Professor?" he called back.

            "What are you doing here?" McGonagall shrieked.

            "Trying to get outside!" he shouted.

            "What?"

            The rushing sound of thousands of gallons of water was loud indeed.

            "Get over here, Potter!" McGonagall shouted.

            Harry did as he was instructed, a sense of utter despair rising in his gut. Slowly, he left the security of the handrail and fought against the water pressure on foot. He arrived at roughly the same time Professor Nemo appeared.

            The DADA instructor rose up from underwater and undid the Bubble-Head charm he had using. "Professor McGonagall!" he shouted. "The Bloody Baron was right. The water is coming from the Slytherin House."

            "Aha!" Professor Flitwick cried.

            Harry nodded understandingly, hoping that this disruption would forestall his questioning. The current was rather treacherous while he was in motion, but when he had the chance to set his feet it was relatively easy to deal with.

            "What is it, Anton?" McGonagall pressed him.

            "It appears to be a rather simple spell, actually," Nemo answered, sounding surprised. "A basic Irrigation Portal had been established in the common room. I guess I should say there were two. I was able to undo the one in the common room, but the other one is far more powerful."

            "More water, you mean? A larger portal?" Professor Sprout squeaked.

            "Well yes, that too," Nemo began.

            Professor Flitwick, the Charms professor, explained it. "What I think he means is that the second portal was set more powerfully, so that it will take more magical force to remove it."

            "Who did this?" McGonagall snarled. Her attention was focused on Harry. "It would have had to be a Slytherin. This spell requires that the caster be close to the portal. Think, Harry. Who would have done this?"

            Harry was gripped by a peculiar sense of terror. On one hand, it seemed he had eluded suspicion, but they were honing in on Pansy.

            "Surely someone who dislikes their housemates," Sprout supplied.

            Harry's mind was racing.

            "I think," Flitwick interjected. "That this was not the work of a student."

            Harry's eyes went wide.

            "I concur," Nemo put in. "That second portal was cast by an exceptionally powerful wizard. If I lacked the power to undo it, it must have been a powerful spell indeed."

            Harry tried not to smile.

            McGonagall was all frowns. "Then we must accept the possibility that our castle has been infiltrated by Deatheaters."

            "Oh boy," Harry muttered.

            "Indeed, Mr. Potter."

            "At any rate, there is no sign of them now. I went all through the dungeons in search of the portal, and there are no wizards down there," Nemo supplied.

            "Well, what should we do?" Professor Sprout spoke up.

            "I'll go back down there again," Nemo volunteered, "But I fear it will take the concerted efforts of several wizards to undo this portal."

            McGonagall gave him a grim look. "Very well. I shall accompany you to the dungeons."

            "Minerva, no!" Sprout shrieked urgently. "You aren't as young as you used to be. Especially since the attack last year."

            Harry turned to gauge McGonagall's reaction with interest. The year before, she had been attacked by a set of more or less rogue Ministry Aurors, and she had been hurt severely by their multiple-stunner attack.

            "Nonsense," McGonagall said dismissively.

            "I think she's right, Minerva," Flitwick insisted.

            "I think," said Nemo slowly, "that this assignment calls for young, spry bodies more than for powerful wizards. I'll take Potter with me; between us we should be able to close that thing up. The current near the portal is no laughing matter, and there is always the Squid to think of. He's having quite a fit."

            McGonagall wavered. "Potter, but…"

            "Wait!" Harry exclaimed. Four pairs of eyes turned his way. "I think he's right, Professor. You should be with the students right now. If this was a Deatheater attack, you have to wonder why they'd want all the students outside."

            This settled the matter conclusively for McGonagall. "Merlin's beard!" she exclaimed. Her eyes were wide with terror as she craned her neck to glance outside. "Are you sure you want to do this, Potter? Perhaps I could send Professor Flitwick…"

            "Absolutely," Harry said definitively. Of course, he would have felt guilty about sending McGonagall outside if he thought there was a remote chance of a Deatheater attack. "It sounds like, you know, fun."

            "Bless you, Potter. I'll see that you get Head Boy for this," McGonagall said tenderly.

            Harry felt his insides turn to ice. Nearby, a flyer for the WWW contest floated by on the surface of the water. He tried not to look at it.

            "Nemo, take this brave young man with you. The rest of you, with me!" Miraculously, McGonagall pulled a broom out of the rushing waters. The broom pulled her out of the current, and she rode it straight out of the front doors of the castle. Flitwick and Sprout followed on foot, struggling against the fast-moving water.

            "Remarkable woman, there," Nemo remarked.

            "Yeah," Harry agreed.

            "Here's the plan. First of all, can you cast a Bubble Head charm?"

            Harry snickered. "Of course."

            Nemo laughed. "Okay. Now, the first thing we have to do is get inside the Slytherin House and shut down that Portal. It is located inside one of the dormitory rooms there, and I have to warn you, the current is particularly strong."

            "Okay."

            "Once that's shut down, all the water should become relatively still, and we can move on to phase two."

            "Phase two, sir?"

            "Yeah, we've got to drain all the lake water out of the castle."

            "Right. So we'll need to set up another portal, one leading back into the lake?" Harry asked.

            "Right you are. But it isn't quite that simple. We have to think about the Squid. We can't very well drain the water out and leave him, can we?"

            Harry nodded. "Right."

            "So, what we'll need to do is herd him toward a strategic place, maybe the Great Hall, and then set up a portal that'll be big enough to pull him through."

            "Okay. How do we herd him?" Harry asked.

            "Use that Concussion Curse."

            "Oh boy."

            "Don't worry. That spell won't be nearly as powerful – or dangerous – underwater, but it should be enough to move him along. Make sure that you cast a narrow arc when you use it, okay?"

            Harry nodded. "No problem."

            "Are you ready?"

            Two minutes later, Harry and Professor Nemo dove into the murky waters, heads safely encased in Bubbles. This part of the castle was cloaked in near-complete darkness, save for a small amount of murky light coming from ahead. They swam hard against the current, heading deeper, down a staircase, and into the Great Hall. Here the source of light became apparent; while the torches had all been extinguished, the enchanted ceiling of the Hall still displayed the sky outside – namely a brightly burning sun in an almost completely cloudless sky.

            The flood had not been kind to Great Hall. Tables and benches drifted uneasily through the waters. The ground appeared littered with plates and silverware, although thankfully it seemed the food had all been secured.

            Nemo gestured wildly with his arms to get Harry's attention, and then pointed out his mouth. "DO THIS," the DADA professor mouthed. Nemo flipped over on his backside, and pointed his wand back the way they had come. Harry watched him cast the Concussion curse, rotating the tip of his wand in a large circle to create a wide arc for the spell. A spray of orange light flashed in the dark waters, shimmering outward in large concentric waves. Meanwhile, the kick of the spell rocketed Nemo across the room toward the entrance to the dungeons.

            Harry duplicated the process and soon came to a stop near his professor. Grinning, they both swam into the pitch black of the dungeons. Harry pulled out his wand again. "Lumos!" he declared. Light flared from the end of his wand, casting a spotlight on the direction they were heading. In order to keep his hands free to swim, Harry stuck the wand in his belt, pointing it as best he could ahead of them. Nemo did the same, and they pressed on.

            Harry shivered as his fingers grazed against the side of a passing fish. In addition to being amazingly dark, he was becoming increasingly aware of the water temperature. He cursed himself for pulling the water from the coldest part of the lake.

            Nemo, in the lead, came to a stop where the corridor forked. Harry cast his wandlight down both directions. On the left, another hundred yards or so, was Slytherin House. On the left, however, was something far more exciting. The Giant Squid was thrashing about angrily in the wide corridor, in relatively still water. When Harry's wandlight flashed across the beast, it panicked. Long tentacles seized around a nearby object – apparently a large teacher's desk – and the Squid whirled around in a tight circle, launching the implement at Harry and Nemo.

            The waters slowed down the bullet significantly, but being underwater also slowed their escape. They took off down the left corridor just in time to avoid a watery grave. Nemo flashed Harry a mischievous grin.

            As they drew nearer Slytherin House, the current got progressively stronger. By the time they entered the common room, they were reduced to working their way along the walls, clawing about for any kind of handhold. Harry looked over at Nemo, who was indicating a door at the back of the giant room. Slowly, tenaciously, they made their way over. Harry's muscles strained, his blood pumped heavy in his veins, and the cold of the water seemed to have disappeared. Grabbing on to the sides of the door frame, they pulled themselves into a dark and narrow corridor.

            Nemo pointed to the second door on the left. If there had not been a handrail leading to it, Harry was not sure they would have made it through. It took them nearly ten minutes to cross the final fifteen feet to the sixth year boys' dormitory.

            The current was clearly at its strongest here. Straining their tired muscles to the limit, the two wizards pulled themselves through the doorway (the door was nowhere to be seen, having likely been pulled from its hinges) and into the room.

            Water rushed around them at a deafening roar; conversation was an impossibility. They got out of the doorway and settled against the interior walls to the bedroom. The room seemed to have no back to it; it seemed as though the room stretched on for miles. It took Harry a moment to realize that he was looking through a floor-to-ceiling viewing window. The leagues of open water he saw were not in the room at all, but instead he was gazing across the floor of the lake.

            The force of incoming water pressed them, almost painfully against the wall at their backs. Harry's Bubble was flattening under the immense pressure. Nemo gestured toward the center of the room, and held a finger against his chest (it would have been almost impossible to hold one's hand out at this point). Then he raised a second, and finally a third. In unison, Harry and Nemo pointed their wands at the portal and said the counterspell.

            At once, the intense pressure ceased and quiet settled in on them.  The back of a mangled bedroom, now devoid of furniture, appeared. "Nice work, Harry!" Nemo shouted, and through the stillness Harry was able to make out the garbled, watery sounds.

            "Thanks!"

            They rested for a moment. Harry was very glad that Professor McGonagall had not attempted this trip. It may not have killed her, but it certainly would not have been very good for her.

            "Now, about that Squid…" Nemo laid out his plans. They exited the remains of the Slytherin House, and Nemo left Harry at the entrance. Harry returned the way they had come, while Nemo looped around the length of the dungeons, so that he could come around behind the Squid. The plan was simple; Nemo would herd the Squid back to the fork, and Harry would open an irrigation portal behind the sea creature, which would pull it through to the lake.

            Harry waited patiently in the now still waters of the corridor. Within a few minutes, he heard a horrible screeching noise coming from the other corridor. Harry peaked around the corner to see the Giant Squid zipping toward him at high speed, a plume of thick, black ink trailing behind him.

            Harry seized the opportunity and aimed his wand into the open area where the fork occurred. He cast a floor-to-ceiling portal, concentrating as he did so on the bottom of the lake, the same stretch he had seen in the Slytherin dormitory. Too late did he remember the suction power created by Irrigation Portals. He snatched wildly at the wall behind him, but his fingers could not find purchase. He rocketed through the portal and found himself in the blue waters at the bottom of the lake.

            The stream of water pushed him along the ground for several hundred feet before he finally ground to a stop, battered and bruised but unhurt. Sighing resignedly, he pointed his wand at the ground and cast a wide-arced Concussion Curse. Within seconds his head broke the surface of the water. He began swimming half-heartedly toward the castle. He could see the entire student body of Hogwarts congregated on the lawn, safely uphill of the lake.

            "Excellent work, Master Potter."

            Harry rotated in the water to look behind. Professor Nemo was swimming leisurely behind him.

            "I think that portal will drain the school in short order," he went on. "And the inhabitants of the lake should be returned to their homes."

            Harry smiled weakly. "That's good."

            "Of course, a good number of other things will be pulled through, but we'll just hope all of those float."

            Harry groaned.

            "I daresay we can expect that the rest of the day's classes will be cancelled," Nemo continued. "But I hope you will still come by for our training session."

            "Professor?" Harry asked incredulously, his mouth gaping open.

            "Disastrous pranks by Deatheaters notwithstanding, you have a lot to learn yet," Nemo told him.

            Harry sighed. "Yes sir. I'll see you at the regular time."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  

            Several hours later, after a measure of order had been restored to the school and Harry had finally dried out, he reported to Professor Nemo's classroom.

            "Ah, Master Potter," the young man greeted him from behind his desk. Like Harry, he was dressed in clean, dry robes and seemed pleased by it. "I'm glad you made it. Do sit down."

            Harry shrugged, took a seat.

            "Well, quite a day for you, wasn't it? Professor McGonagall was particularly impressed with your courage. Awarded Gryffindor 150 points for the effort."

            Harry grinned; he had already more than made up for the points he had lost in the confrontation with Snape.

            "I was rather impressed myself, of course," Nemo went on in a clipped, professional voice. "Especially by the fact that I did not have to teach you the Irrigation Portal charm before we went under."

            These words landed like lead balloons in the suddenly oppressive stillness of the room. Harry found he could not breathe.

            "It is interesting indeed that you were able to close one Portal and open another without any instruction at all," Nemo reiterated.

            Harry thought fast. "Well, it was all in my notes. From History of Magic. From my first year," he managed, knowing how guilty he must sound.

            "Yes, I figured you might have pulled a feat of recollection. It is not impossible that you would know the spell, is it?"

            Harry was sharp enough to recognize a trap when it was being laid. He said nothing.

            "But the most interesting point, I thought, was not your recollection of an obscure fact from your first year. After the school had drained, I went back down to the dungeons to close the Portal you opened – the lawful one, that is – and I was rather surprised to find that I could not do so of my own ability." Nemo looked piercingly at Harry, his face devoid of emotion.

            "Oh?" Harry croaked.

            "Indeed. I set off to fetch you, but as soon as I had, Dumbledore arrived and closed it for me."

            Harry felt his panic reaching a new peak. He was becoming dizzy.

            Nemo smiled. "In truth, I don't think the Headmaster was aware that I could not close it. I don't think he realized that there are only two wizards at Hogwarts capable of opening or closing a portal of that intensity. It would seem that your secret is safe, Mr. Potter."

            Harry did not relax, not yet.

            "Granted, the man is particularly sharp, so there is no telling, really. I suppose time will tell."

            They sat in heavy silence for a few moments. Nemo's gaze did not waver, and Harry became acutely aware that he was sweating copiously.

            "So." Harry said at last.

            Professor Nemo laughed out loud. "So."

            "What now?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.

            Nemo rose to his feet, paced the front of the room. "As I have mentioned, I am not a teacher by nature. I was not brought here to fill that role, really. I was brought here for a single purpose, Harry. I am firmly convinced of it. In all likelihood, my job here is done the day you graduate."

            "Yes sir."

            "Then again, it doesn't seem like anyone lasts longer than a year in this job, do they?"

            Harry gave a nervous laugh.

            "From the perspective of a teacher, it would be my duty to turn you in," Nemo said icily. "But that isn't the perspective I look at my job from. As your personal tutor, as I surely am, I have no compulsion to rat you out."

            Harry could not believe his ears.

            "Instead, I will simply take this as a compelling example of your ability," Nemo concluded. "Tell me this, though, Mr. Potter: was it your intention to flood the entire school?"

            "No sir," Harry said grimly. "I was simply… well…"

            "Trying to make life hard for a certain unpopular House?" Nemo guessed.

            Harry grinned, feeling his panic recede. "Yeah."

            "What this incident suggests to me is that you have incredible ability, Mr. Potter, but that perhaps we need to help you control it a little better."

            Harry nodded. "Apparently."

            "And your accomplice? What of that person?"

            Harry broke eye contact with his teacher, looked at the ground. "I don't know what you're talking about."

            Nemo laughed again. "You don't expect me to believe you, do you now?"

            Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter whether you do or not. I… You will never here me speak of an accomplice, whether there was one or not."

            Nemo smiled. "Fair enough. I won't press. I must ask, though, should I be concerned about where your allegiances lie?"

            Harry snapped his head back toward Nemo. "Voldemort killed my parents, sir," he said, his voice heavy with emotion. "And his Deatheaters have tried to destroy everything I've ever loved. You may rest assured that I will forever be against them."

            "Duly noted. Well, I think that answers all of my questions on this matter. Now," he said, clapping his hands together in emphasis. "Back to work. I noticed that you seem to have mastered the aquatic version of the Concussion Curse. Let's see how you fair on dry land."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX  

            Harry awoke in darkness. For a moment, he thought he was in the dormitory, in his own bed. The pain that wracked his body conferred with the image in front of his eyes – he was back in the hospital wing. He beat his fist into the mattress in frustration.

            The room was empty except for himself. He reached over to the nightstand beside his bed and turned on the lamp. He located a glass of water and drank it down. On the ground beside his bed he found his satchel and wand. He pulled out the book that Professor Nemo had given him for their training sessions, and set to work. He committed the Aegis Charm – the best spell for deflecting the Concussion Curse – and practiced the corresponding wand motion over and over.

            "What the bloody hell is that?"

            Harry looked up in alarm, startled to find that he was no longer alone. The door to the hospital wing was hanging open. In the doorway, wearing all black, was the slender frame of Pansy Parkinson. Her pale face was the only easily visible part of her, reflecting the soft moonlight.

            "The Aegis Charm," he answered. He gave her a broad smile. He found that he was rather glad to see her.

            "Never heard of it," she stated.

            "No, I'd guess not," he mumbled. "You can come in, you know?"

            "You sure? You seem kind of busy," she said playfully.

            Harry smiled. "_Please_ come in?" He gestured to the bed next to his.

            "Suit yourself," she said, laughing. She crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps and took a seat on his bed next to him.

            "So, you're out late," Harry observed. "At least I think you are. What time is it, anyway?"

            Pansy shrugged. "Pushing two am, I think. You know what? It's a lot easier to sneak out of your common room once all the doors have been pulled off the hinges."

            Harry laughed; then winced at the pain. "I imagine. So, what are you doing here?"

            "I can always leave…"

            "No, I didn't mean it like that."

            "Oh. So you just wanted me to tell you that I came all this way in the middle of the night just to see you?"

            Harry blushed. "Something like that."

            "Well, tough luck," she quipped. "I came here to steal medical supplies."

            "Oh yeah?"

            "Yeah! I'm going to steal some tranquilizer potions and head over to a late-night party with the Ravenclaws. You want to go?"

            "I think I'll pass," Harry said. He scarcely felt like he were capable of walking.

            "So, tell me more about this, uh, what-you-call-it? Eegit Charm?"

            "Aegis Charm. It's a protection spell," Harry said, feeling rather sheepish. "Sort of a, well, higher level Defense spell."

            Pansy nodded, maintaining close eye contact with Harry. "Looks like you could use it."

            Harry blushed. "Yeah."

            "Did you have another one of those accidents?" she asked. "Seems like you're spending a lot of time in here."

            Harry closed his eyes. "Yeah."

            "I had to dig all by myself today," Pansy went on. "Funny thing. I never realized how unpleasant the work was until today."

            Harry smiled weakly at her.

            "Why are you studying advanced Defense, Harry?" Pansy asked.

            Harry could tell by the tone of her voice that he would not be able to dance around it any longer. This was the part where he had to tell her that he did not want to talk about it, or that it was none of her business, or at least make up a lie. He could not find any of those words.

            "Are you taking up a particularly dangerous summer job?" Pansy asked, in a joking but insistent voice.

            "Sort of. I mean, the timeline isn't really clear, but I'm getting ready for something pretty dangerous."

            "Oh yeah?"

            "Pansy…" Harry began. "Look, you've got to stop and ask yourself something. Do you really want to know? I will tell you, but… first of all, it isn't pretty."

            "Trying being in the same house with Draco Malfoy," Pansy quipped.

            Harry smiled, took a breath and went on. "If this is just idle curiosity, then-"

            "It isn't," she cut him off. "I want to know."

            Harry hesitated.

            "I'm worried about you, Harry."

            The words seemed to be difficult for her. Harry looked into her eyes, and saw a wealth of emotion in them. "Okay. You cannot tell anyone about this, Pansy."

            "No problem."

            "Seriously, though… there are people who would kill for this information. In fact, somebody already died for it." Harry felt a tug in his throat at the memory of Sirius Black. "I… haven't told anybody about this. Not even Ron or Hermione."

            Pansy's face registered surprise. "Wow. I swear, a girl gives you just one little kiss and you're willing to bare your soul."

            Harry laughed nervously. "I trust you, Pansy. I don't know why, but I do."

            "Are you sure? Don't you know that I'm a-" Pansy looked around quickly. The hospital wing was deathly still. "Slytherin?" she whispered.

            "This isn't a time for jokes, Pansy," Harry said quietly. "If you want to know, then I will tell you."

            Pansy finally picked up on the solemnity of his voice. "Okay, Harry. I want to know."

            "Before I was born, a Prophecy was made that… the person who could destroy The Dark Lord would be born soon, to parents that had thrice defied him. The time of the birth was given… well, it's pretty clear that the prophecy was talking about me," Harry said quietly but deliberately.

            "Well, you _almost_ did it, right?"

            "Yeah, but there's more. It also said that, well, that neither can live while the other survives. One of us must die at the hands of the other."

            Pansy said nothing, but Harry could tell by the look on her face that she would not be cracking any more jokes for awhile.

            "I am, apparently, the only one who can kill Voldemort. And so, in addition to my classes, I am training with Professor Nemo to fight him. The training isn't easy, in fact it's pretty dangerous in places, which is why I'm here."

            "So, what you're saying is that you have the world on you shoulders?"

            "Pretty much."

            "That sucks."

            "Pretty much."

            "Well, that explains a lot, anyway," she said quietly.

            "Yeah, I'll bet," Harry mumbled. Confusing emotions welled up inside of him, and he was seized by the immediate desire to set them straight. "Pansy…"  
            "Yeah?"

            "What are we doing?" he asked, giving her a meaningful look.

            Pansy brightened, prepared to deliver another witty retort. Seeing Harry's face, she stopped. "So, you want to have one of those… Defining the Relationship' talks, huh?"

            "I guess so."

            "Let's not and say we did," Pansy told him.

            "Huh?"

            "It's just that… I hate to give it a name. Kills things, generally speaking. It's too early to be talking about titles and commitments and all that junk."

            "Okay…"

            "I like you Harry, and you like me, and I hope that's enough for you," she said.

            Harry pondered it. "I guess so."

            "Good," Pansy declared. "Guess what, Scarhead?"

            "What?" he asked, his curiosity peaked.

            "I'm going to kiss you now!"

            Before Harry could even assent, Pansy had thrown both of her arms around his neck and planted a sloppy buss on his lips. She pulled back a couple of inches and smiled at him winningly.

            "You're nuts, Parkinson," he said quietly.

            Her smile faltered; she pondered. "Yeah, I could see that."

            Harry put his hand behind her head and kissed her tenderly. After a moment, Harry was surprised to find a second tongue in his mouth. Playfully it romped about the inside of his mouth, at length finding his own tongue. She prodded him, tongue to tongue, for a moment – as if challenging him to some sort of oral duel.

            Pansy pulled apart again. "You ever been French kissed before?" she asked.

            Harry blushed crimson. "No, I guess not."

            "I figured. Well, we'll have to teach you a thing or two sometime."

            Harry found he was no longer able to look her in the eyes.

            "Ah, don't be like that," she said softly. "It's sorta endearing, in a way."

            Harry laughed.

            "But alright, sweetie, I have to go back to bed now, and I'm sure you could use your rest as well."

            Harry nodded, thinking to himself that her leaving was the last thing he wanted just then.

            "Good night, Harry," she said, kissing him once more.

            "Good night, Pansy."

            In a whirl she was off of his bed and out the door.

            Harry shook his head, a feeling of joy rising up inside of him.

            "Oh, and Potter?" Pansy had stuck her head back inside of the hospital wing.

            "Yeah?"

            "You don't have to worry," she said, her voice grave. "I will always keep your secret."

            "Thank you."


	5. Chapter Five

            "And then… and this is the best part…" Harry hooted. He was laughing so hard that joyous tears were welling up in his eyes.

            "Wait… no… hold on…" Pansy choked out, raising a single finger to ward off his next comment. "I don't if I can take it. I'm laughing so hard my insides hurt," she gasped, taking giant gulps of air in. Her shovel, inserted into the damp ground outside the castle, was now a crutch against which she leaned for support. "Okay."

            "And then she says I'm going to make sure you get Head Boy for this'."  
            "No!" Pansy shrieked.

            "Yes! What was I supposed to say to that?" Harry cackled. "Honestly, keeping a straight face at the moment was the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

            "Oh, that's priceless!" Pansy moaned. "You know, it's a wonder she didn't call off the rest of your detention. Surely a – hee hee – hero like yourself shouldn't have to dig holes out here."

            Harry's expression changed immediately. "She did," he said hesitantly. He looked at her significantly. "Tried to, anyway. I told her that I, uh, thought it best if I went ahead and served my time."

            Pansy stopped laughing, and gave him an odd look. Part of her looked ready to cry, while wanting to smile at the same time. "That's sweet," she said softly.

            "Well, you know…" Harry squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze. "I didn't want you to have to do all of this yourself."

            They dug on in a comfortable silence for several minutes. At the rate they were going, they would be done with the project in another couple of days. Harry could tell that their progress was slowing – each afternoon together, they talked more and dug less.

            "You know, I think that's got to be one of the greatest pranks ever pulled," Pansy remarked offhandedly. "At least in terms of general havoc wreaked."

            "Yeah? Better than the Twins' fireworks last year?" Over the course of their association, he talked to her a lot about his friends – told her their stories, relayed their jokes, and shared the things he knew about them. Gradually, she was getting to know them all pretty well, if indirectly. When he said "The Twins", there could be little doubt in her mind that he was not referring to the Patils.

            "Did they cancel classes for that day?"

            "Good point."

            "And to think, all that trouble, and they still think it was Deatheaters!"

            "I should tell you," he said slowly. "That we didn't get away with it _completely._"

            Pansy dropped her shovel in alarm. "What?"

            "Professor Nemo," Harry told her. "He knows that I did it. I don't think he suspects you, though."

            "Did you _tell_ him?"

            "Of course not. He's a pretty clever guy, you know," Harry commented.

            "So… what's going to happen?" Pansy's voice was thick with concern.

            "He… well, that's sort of complicated, but it looks like he's going to keep my secret," Harry told her.

            Pansy shook her head in disbelief. "You know what? I think I've changed my mind. I **do** hate you."

            "Why?"  
            "Harry, if anybody else had been caught flooding the school, they would have been expelled – no questions asked," Pansy told him. "If not executed on the spot! You really do get away with murder!"

            Harry laughed, but he thought about what she said. "Are you saying that you would rather we were busted?"

            "Well, no, but still…" Pansy whistled. "What do you say we take another trip to the lakeside?"

            Harry screwed up his eyes suspiciously. "Are you going to kiss me again?"

            "Maybe," she said coyly.  
            "Then maybe I want to go."

            Pansy laughed, seized his wrist, and led him to the place on the lakeside they had started visiting regularly. It sat between two large oak trees, just past a small hill that obscured it from anyone who might be watching from the castle. Within a minute, they were both sitting next to the lake, their feet dangling in.

            "I don't know if this is a good idea," Harry said suddenly.

            "Yeah, I have my reservations as well," Pansy said seriously. "I've never dated a half-blood before." She broke out in hysterical giggling at her own joke.

            Harry could not help but join her in her laughter. He put his right arm around her, and squeezed her against him affectionately. With his free hand, he splashed a little bit of water on her. "That's not what I meant!"

            "Ewww!" Pansy exclaimed, wiping the water off of her face. "Okay, what did you mean?"  
            "I don't know how welcome I am around the lake anymore," he said, looking into its murky waters. "Last time I saw Mr. Squid, he looked pretty angry with me."

            "Don't worry," Pansy responded. "If he shows up here, I'll give him what for."

            "Okay, good."

            "So, Harry?"  
            "Yeah?"  
            "What's our next project?"  
            "Eh?"  
            "You know, for the contest."

            "The WWW contest?"  
            'That's the one," she said, her eyes blazing with intensity. "I want to win."

            Harry laughed out loud, kissed her cheek. "Well, you better get to work, hadn't you?"

            Pansy jabbed him in the side. "No, you're going to help me."

            "Am I?"  
            "Yeah, I think so."

            "So, what are we going to do?" he asked.

            Pansy's eyes lit up in excitement. It was a look that he would soon come to know very well – it meant that her mischievous mind was working. "Do you know what this weekend is?"

            Harry shrugged. "A Hogsmeade visit?"

            "Even better – the Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch match."

            "What do you have in mind?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX     

            Hermione and Ron stared at Harry in expectant silence. Around them, the Great Hall was full of the subdued babble of breakfast conversation. Owl Post had just arrived, and as usual, Harry sat with a pile of letters in front of him, detailing the chaos that was to ensue that day. It seemed that the flooding of the school had been a turning point in the WWW contest. It seemed that a few pranksters had been discouraged, believing that in a single day they had fallen too far behind in the standings to ever catch up and win it all. For the most part, though, the contestants simply increased their efforts. Jokes were becoming steadily more common, and more potent each day. The competition had gotten so fierce that "Preventative Pranking" was coming into fashion. If word got out that someone was planning a big event, that person would find their efforts sabotaged.

            Justin Finch Fletchley and Ernie MacMillan, for instance, had intended to besiege Gryffindor tower with heat-seeking water balloons. Somehow (Harry did not know how), the Creeveys got wind of it, and ambushed their rivals at a critical moment. Justin and Ernie were found, several hours later, crammed into a kitchen cabinet, the entire load of enchanted balloons missing. Harry had a feeling that this materiel would resurface soon, but he had not got any word of it yet.

            Harry looked at the topmost page in his thick stack of scheduled events. Hermione and Ron were going to unleash a pink balloon explosion on Thursday morning in the Great Hall. The concept struck him as a little silly (he suspected that Hermione was the creative genius behind this act), but the spellwork was sound. If done correctly, the process would start with a single balloon, but each time anyone so much as touched it, it would replicate itself fourfold. Within minutes, there could be enough balloons to fill the Great Hall, and spill outward.

            "So, what do you think, Mate?" Ron asked.

            "As official Liaison, it isn't my place to comment on the quality of the prank," he reminded her.

            "We're not asking you for your professional opinion, Harry," Hermione told him. "We're asking you what you think as our _friend._"

            Harry glanced at his watch. With exaggerated motions, he took his fork off of his breakfast plate, and tossed it under the table. "I seem to have dropped my fork," he said stiffly. "I think I'll go retrieve it." Ignoring the confused looks of his Housemates, he crawled under the table.

            Overhead, the clock hands moved into the position of 8:24 a.m. Like clockwork, a crate full of dungbombs dropped, as if they had simply appeared from nothingness, and exploded in the crowded room. Herrmione and Ron were soon underneath the table with him. All three cast Bubblehead Charms.

            "If this contest were awarded to the most tenacious, Crabbe and Goyle win in a heartbeat," he told them. They laughed, wiping smoke-induced tears away from their eyes. "As far as your prank goes, I think it's a good one. It has the potential to create some real upheaval."

            "Excellent."

            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Mr. Potter, perhaps you have noticed that times are changing at Hogwarts," Professor Nemo said in a level tone.

            Harry studiously avoided his gaze, which was no small feat in a classroom consisting of only two people. The DADA classroom was becoming Harry's second home; he spent more time in that room in solitary practice than he did in the Gryffindor common room. They were falling into a predictable routine – each afternoon Harry would arrive promptly at four o'clock, and take his usual seat in middle row at the front of the class. Professor Nemo would wonder in a few minutes later and take a seat on the teacher's desk, just a few feet in front of his student. They would engage in a few minutes' worth of polite conversation, and then commence the day's practice. Regrettably, a good number of the practices concluded with Harry going to the infirmary.

            "It's getting to where a man can't walk down the hall without falling victim to some sort of good-natured gag," Nemo went on. "You can imagine my surprise when I discovered that my breakfast was served with a side order of dungbombs."

            "Yes sir, dangerous times," Harry echoed.

            "I've been watching you, Potter," he said slowly. "I've noticed that you have an uncanny knack for avoiding the worst of these… events."

            Harry could barely conceal his smile. "Let's just say that I've developed a keen ear for danger."

            "I see."

            "Surely you don't suspect me, sir, of the dungbomb incidents?" Harry asked, sounding hurt.

            "And if I did?"  
            "I'd be rather offended! Surely you know I have better taste than that!"

            Professor Nemo laughed. "Very well, Potter, but heed this warning: I can't imagine that I'm the only one who has noticed your… invulnerability."

            "Duly noted."

            Professor Nemo smiled. He glanced at his wristwatch, and the smile vanished. "Well, Master Potter, it seems that I am left with only four minutes to teach you the theory behind Apparation."

            "Sir?" Harry could not believe his ears. "I am not old enough-"

            "I think it has been generally proven that the normal rules don't seem to apply to you, Mr. Potter," Nemo said, his voice somewhere between amused and accusing. "At any rate, it is unthinkable that you would go into battle without knowing Apparation. It is an essential combat skill."

            "Okay."

            "Now, as I am sure you are aware, it is impossible to Apparate or Disapparate anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds."

            "Right."

            "The technical truth here is that the previous statement actually encompasses two facts. Let's break Apparation into two categories; site-to-site and within-site. The first type means that you would try to transport yourself instantaneously into Hogsmeade, or perhaps beam yourself' into the Ministry. Those are examples of site-to-site Apparation.

            "The second kind is within-site Apparation, and involves crossing a room, or moving yourself instantaneously into the library, the kitchens, or your girlfriend's bed."

            Harry scowled at Nemo severely.

            "I only said it as a hypothetical. From the perspective of execution, the two forms of Apparation are the same. It takes the same skill to move yourself to the roof of the castle as it does to get inside of Flourish and Blotts, for example. However, from the defense perspective, that is, from the perspective of setting up anti-apparation fields such as the ones that guard this castle, they are distinct."

            Harry's face made it clear that he did not understand.

            "Put another way, if we wanted to keep the Deatheaters from appearing at breakfast one day, we would have to set up one ward to keep them out. That spell would be a sort of invisible perimeter around the outside of the castle. If, however, we also wanted to keep seventh years from skipping out of the Potions' lessons, we would need to set up another ward within the grounds themselves."

            "I think I understand," Harry said.

            "Good. Now here comes the interesting part. I have coordinated this lesson with the Headmaster, and he will be suspending the second category of defense spell-" The DADA professor vanished.

            "-Right now." Nemo spoke into Harry's ear, standing directly behind him.

            Harry jumped in his seat, his heart kicked into overdrive, and his textbook dropped from his hand. "Funny," he muttered sarcastically as soon as he got his breath back.

            "Okay, Mr. Potter, I want you to close your eyes," Nemo said, walking back to the desk in front of the classroom.

            Harry did as instructed.

            "Make a very clear picture in your mind of where you are; the seat underneath you, the look of the windows to your right, the idiot standing in front of you."  
            Harry gave a half smile.

            "In just a second, not yet, I want you to picture the place I am about to tell you. It is important that you picture this place in your minds' eye as clearly as you can, every detail as sharp as possible. Okay, if you are ready, think of the front door to Hagrid's hut."

            Harry did as he was instructed, pleased to have such an easy assignment. A vision floated into his consciousness; a large, weather-beaten, dome-shaped stone hut. He could see clearly the small pebbles lining the passage to the front door, the trees swaying slightly in the wind, the orange thatching of Hagrid's roof.

            "Got it?"

            "Yep."

            "Okay, now with all your attention focused, I want you to _will_ yourself there. Think of how nice it would be if you were in front of his hut, just now, on a rainy, windy day. Imagine yourself there."  
            Harry did as he was instructed, straining all his mental energies on one image; his own body in front of Hagrid's home.

            "Okay, open your eyes."

            Harry was not surprised to find himself still sitting in the DADA classroom. "Did I do it wrong?" he asked.

            "I have no doubt that you followed my instructions perfectly," Nemo told him. "But if Apparating were that easy, no one would ever get splinched, now would they?"

            Harry gave his instructor a wry grin. "You're quite the comedian today, sir."

            "I guess I'm feeling my oats," the young man answered, shrugging.

            "So, how _does _one Apparate?"

            "Quite the eager beaver, eh? Very well. I should tell you that the preceding exercise was meant to be more than amusement for me; you practiced skills that are essential to the process. First of all, pick your destination ahead of time."

            "Hagrid's hut," Harry said at once.

            "Okay. That's good, but it's often easiest to start by Apparating to places you can actually see from your present location."  
            "Hagrid's hut," Harry reiterated.

            "Oh, very well. First of all, forget where you are. In fact, forget everything. Forget who you are, what you ate for lunch, what your mate said to you between classes – all of it. Clear your mind of all thoughts. Hold that for as long as you can."

            Harry did as he was instructed, maintaining mental silence for as long as he could bear it. Minutes elapsed, or at least, he thought they did. He pushed the thought of time out of his mind, as well, and focused on the thought of black. No, not black. Just nothing.

            "Okay, I'm about to give you the spell… when you say, please remember to focus on nothing at all, not even what you are saying, okay? Repeat after me:

            "_Oculus._"

            "_Oculus._"

            Harry felt something inside of him move, almost like an electrical shock, only pleasant. He had only the fraction of a second to dwell on this sensation before his blank field of vision gave way to a panoramic light show of every color known to man. It was not before him, like vision, but all around; he suddenly had the sense of being immersed in a field of various, brightly lit energy pulses. It came on so suddenly that it startled him. He tore his eyes open, only to find that he was laying on his backside on the ground.

            "What… was that?" Harry asked.

            "I can't tell you for sure what you saw, Mr. Potter, at least to say I cannot tell you what it looked like to you. _Oculus _is an old and powerful spell that one may cast on themselves without a wand. This is because it actually predates the use of wands. It is a vision spell, and what it shows you is, literally speaking, magic itself; the current of energy that surrounds us constantly that we cannot otherwise see."

            Harry, still a little shaken, retook his seat.

            "It is imperative that you always empty your mind before performing the _Oculus_ spell, at least until you get the hang of Apparating. In order to Apparate, you must be focused on magic itself, nothing of the tangible, physical world. Do you remember what you saw just now?"

            Harry had not trouble visualizing the terrifying image. "Yeah."

            "Try not to."

            "Come again?"

            "When you remember what you saw last time, you are focusing on a memory, something that is a part of your brain, not at all magical. When you perform the _Oculus_ spell, you must clear your mind of all memories, even memories of magic."

            "Wow."

            "Indeed. That's the easiest way to splinch yourself, to keep something in your mind when you try to Apparate. Are you ready to try again?"

            Harry nodded shakily.

            "Okay, close your mind again. When you have done that completely, say the spell."

            Harry closed his eyes, pushed everything out of his mind. "_Oc__-_". With the first syllable out of his mouth, the vision flooded back into his view, but only the memory. Harry focused on nothing again. "_Oculus_."

            He was back in the realm of magic. Flashing lights pulsed in front of him, swayed with some unseen force. Moreover, he could see it behind him, above him, under him, all around.

            "Self."

            The word flowed in from nowhere. Harry's mind focused on himself, and a large block of pure white energy, located somewhere within the span of what would have been his physical body, swelled accordingly.

            "You should now be able to see your magical identity." More words appeared in this world, not sounds, but ideas themselves. Somewhere in his near vicinity, a thread of red energy pulsed vibrantly.

            "Do you see me? Don't answer." The red energy vibrated again. "This is what people look like, at least magical people."

            "Now, picture Hagrid's hut, while remembering the self. Picture the physical place of it, in the real world."

            Harry tried to picture the place he knew so well, but no image appeared in his mind. Instead, he found that the lightshow in front of him began to move, very quickly indeed. He felt nauseous for a split second, put pushed the sensation out of his mind. Presently, the lights and shapes in front of him ceased whirling, and he found an arrangement of energy that… felt like Hagrid's hut.

            "Remember the self."

            Harry saw the white energy that he identified with, and a shiver ran through the cosmos. A sharp physical pain surged in his rump, as he landed roughly on the pebbles below.

            "BLIMEY!" came a thunderous voice. "'Arry?"

            Harry opened his eyes and the energy ebbed away as the physical world reappeared. A cold breeze tore at his exposed skin. He was dimly aware of rocks and bits of dirt stuck to his underside. In front of him stood the familiar form of Hagrid's home, but he could only see the outline – the majority of his field of vision was filled the looming figure of the groundskeeper.

            "'Arry!" the voice repeated, sounding louder and more concerned. "What are ya doing here?"

            "Congratulations, Mr. Potter," came the voice of Professor Nemo, from behind Hagrid. "You have successfully Apparated."

            "I… fell down," Harry mumbled.

            Nemo laughed. "Not precisely. What you did was Apparate. What you did not do was configure your body for your arrival here."

            "What?" Harry asked, not understanding.

            "What position was your body in before your departure, Mr. Potter?"

            "I was… sitting in a chair."

            "Exactly. So, when you arrived here, you were still sitting, except there was no longer a chair to support you. If you had configured your body to a standing position, you would have arrived as such."

            "Nice of you to mention that," Harry grumbled, finally taking Hagrid's offered hand. The half-giant pulled him up with such force that Harry was lifted completely off the ground on his way to a standing position.

            "I suppose I would have," Nemo said slowly, "But I did not think you would accomplish the trick on your first try. To my knowledge, that act is entirely without precedent."

            "Well, 'Arry's a pretty bright fella," Hagrid put in.

            "Indeed. Hagrid, old chum, can you do me a favor?" Nemo asked.

            "Wa's that?" Hagrid asked.

            "Don't mention the fact that Harry has learned how to Apparate to anyone," Nemo said quietly. "It's for his own good."

            "O' course," Hagrid agreed, lowering his own voice.

            "Okay, Harry, congratulations on your first success," Nemo told him. "But we still have a lot of work to do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Okay, I'll be receiving the shipment Thursday night – that's tomorrow night, at nine p.m. sharp," Pansy told him.

            As usual, the two of them were sitting at their place lakeside, making the most of the end of their detention. In truth, they had one last tree to plant and their detention would be completed, and they were in no hurry to end it. They had briefly discussed getting caught in some minor transgression so as to land in more detention together. However, they felt they could not trust the staff to keep them together through it.

            Harry smiled. He had been reminded of this detail over a dozen times now. It was amazing how seriously she was taking larking business. He answered her the way he always had: "The Creevey Brothers are handling the diversion for your pick-up," he reminded her. "Not that they know it of course. I daresay that a hundred heat-seeking water balloons let out on the ground-floor will create enough mayhem for you to slip away discreetly."

            Pansy frowned. "Even so… Look, Filch has been watching me pretty closely lately. I think he suspects," she said softly. "Either that or he's developed a crush on me. Yuch!" She feigned a gagging sound.

            Harry's eyes widened slightly; this was a new development. "Is that so? In either event, he must be dealt with. Leave him to me."

            Pansy kissed him softly on his cheek. "My jealous lover," she said proudly. "Do we have everything set for our warm-up, Scarhead?"  
            "What's to set up?" Harry asked. They had been laying detailed plans for a big strike during the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw Quidditch match, but had also agreed to pull some smaller affair the day before – namely, to put Sticking Charms on all the toilets in the castle during lunch. Shortly after the meal, a number of students would take a seat on the can and find themselves unable to stand up again.

            "Just making sure," she said defensively.

            "I, er, well, I was thinking about adding a new wrinkle to the plan, actually," he told her.

            "What's that?"

            "Just this – I think I'll take a crap after lunch," he told her.

            "Lord Potter," Pansy said through clenched teeth, a revolted expression on her face. "If no one explained it to you previously, it is not a good idea to share your bathroom habits with your girlfriend."

            Harry blinked in surprise. She had never mentioned the word "girlfriend" before. "Okay, Pans. No problem."

            "Do you want to get yourself stuck?"

            "Yeah. You know; throw them off my scent a little," He responded. "No pun intended."

            "Gross." She nodded in understanding. "But it might be a good idea."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX      

            "Well, now this interesting," Harry muttered, glancing at the latest batch of prank advisories. They were enjoying their dinner quietly at the end of the Gryffindor table. It was Wednesday night, which meant that his two chums would be going forth with their first prank in the morning.

            "What's that? Crabbe and Goyle graduate to Industrial Strength dungbombs?" Ron quipped.

            "No, nothing that extreme… but still. It seems that we can expect a Thai Sneezing Curse."

            Hermione whistled appreciatively. "That isn't easy magic," she told them.

            "What's it do?" Ron asked apprehensively.

            "Induces fits of sneezing," Hermione answered sarcastically.

            "What's so bad about that?" Ron asked.

            "They don't stop until you receive _medical_ attention," Harry answered through gritted teeth. "I'll have to be sure to avoid that one."

            "Too right!" Ron exclaimed. "When will it be?"

            "Of course, it isn't the spell itself that I found interesting, it's the person who's doing it," Harry went on.      

            "Who?" Hermione and Ron asked in unison.

            "They call themselves the Irascible Duo; Professor Flitwick and Professor Nemo."

            "Professors? They're entering the contest?" Ron asked incredulously.

            Hermione looked ready to cry.

            "It looks that way," Harry answered calmly.

            "But surely… the contest isn't… they can't… but they're professors!" Ron exclaimed.

            "I can't say there's anything in the rules that would disqualify them," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders.

            "But-" Ron sputtered.

            "Does that mean they know what you're up to?" Hermione asked, lowering her voice.

            Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. They sent the notice by school owl. Fred and George worked it out, somehow. All the owls up there deliver the parcels for the Liaison to me."

            "I'm going to kill by brothers for ever starting this," Ron remarked darkly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            On Thursday morning, Harry awoke reluctantly. The night before, he and Pansy had been out rather late, walking around the grounds alone. Harry found that he was open to talk to Pansy in a way that he had never talked to anyone else. He had good friends in Ron and Hermione, he knew, and to a lesser extent Ginny, Neville and several others. Pansy, however, was something special. Whenever he felt snowed in, buried under the pressures that he had to bear alone, she somehow took all the strain away. She did not offer him any solutions, did not try to fix his situation, but she was always able to take his pain away. The only problem lay in the fact that she was in Slytherin, and as such it was beyond taboo for him to speak with her in public. It seemed that if they wanted to find any time to spend together, they would have to manufacture it.

            Harry's attention was seized by a murmuring noise to his side. He turned to look at it, and was surprised to find that Ron was already awake. The Weasley boy was sitting upright at the edge of his bed, staring into the cautious morning light outside their window. He must have been awake for some time, because he was already dressed for the day, and the sun had barely risen. "Hey there, Mate," Harry said groggily. "What's going on?"

            "Nothin'" Ron said nervously.

            As Harry's dulled senses slowly returned to him, he could see that Ron was clutching something in his quaking hands. "What's that?" he asked, gesturing toward it.

            "Nothin'!" Ron repeated, more forcefully this time.

            "That wouldn't be a pink balloon, would it?" Harry asked, his voice laced with amusement.   

            Ron looked ready to explode. "What?" he hissed, looking around at their sleeping dormmates. "Don't say that out loud!"

            "Don't worry -- they're asleep," Harry said reassuringly. "You know, Ron, I can't help but notice you seem a little nervous there."

            "I'm fine," Ron remarked. His hands quaked so badly that he dropped the balloon in question, and hurried to snatch it up.

            "Uh-huh."  
            Ron gave a half-laugh. "It's nothing really," he said quietly. "I don't know why I'm so nervous. All I have to do is inflate it, and start the spell. Hermione's already prepared it… I don't know why I have to be so… fidgety."

            "Don't worry, Ron. You'll be fine. Once you get the first one under your belt, all that gets easier," Harry said sleepily. He quickly finished preparing for the day.

            "I guess so," Ron said dubiously.

            "Come on, Man, It's just like Quidditch. Don't you always get nervous before Quidditch games?"

            Ron brightened a little. "Yeah," he said hopefully.

            "But you do fine in spite of it – it's just nerves," Harry told him. He put his hand on Ron's shoulder and gestured toward the door. "Let's go down to breakfast, and you can start some mayhem."

            "Okay."

            Just as Harry had predicted, Hermione and Ron's plan went off without a hitch. When the meal was two-thirds completed, Ron took a walk over to a water fountain, and deposited the inflated, enchanted balloon into a trash can, then scampered off. After a few kinetic bumps, balloons began flaring out of the trash can in alarming numbers. A wash of pink spread over the room; each table was littered with a few of the balloons within seconds. Thereafter came pandemonium; as each student poked, prodded or slapped a balloon, it multiplied into four. Before long, incidental contact with the balloons became impossible to avoid. Four minutes after Ron had started it off, the balloons had filled up all the available room in the Hall, and were spilling out in the school.

            Harry was just getting concerned about breathing room when Dumbledore cast a spell that vanished them all. The Headmaster, his face unreadable, stood up at the staff table with his wand out, staring down the entire student body. Harry, trying not to smile too obviously, went back to his breakfast.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX     

            Harry arrived, at the usual time, in Professor Nemo's classroom. To his surprise, the instructor for Defense was already in the classroom, which was unusual. Harry took his usual seat in the front row.

            "Afternoon, Harry," Professor Nemo said, smiling courteously. He had a stack of papers in front of him, which he was perusing interestedly. "I'm afraid that I won't have time to hold our session today – I've been falling a little behind in my duties as a teacher of DADA."

            Harry gave a little laugh – he and his classmates had been waiting an unusually long time to receive their marks from the last test they had taken. "No problem, teach," Harry said, shrugging. He grabbed his bag, ready to depart.

             "Hang on just a second, Harry," Nemo said, putting up a hand to stop him. "I've been reading some more adventures of your fourth year."

            Harry scowled, setting his satchel back down. The last time Nemo had said this, Harry had been treated with an afternoon of the Imperius Curse. "Yes sir?"

            "More specifically, I've been reading about your duel with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Nemo told him.

            Harry said nothing, trying not to remember that horrible day.

            "You know, the one at the end of the Triwizard Tournament."  
            "I remember it," Harry said fiercely.

            Nemo did not seem to notice. "It's entirely likely, of course, that You-Know-Who has obtained a new wand since then, but on the other hand… it's rather hard to find a wand you're comfortable with, you know?"

            "Yeah…"

            "I think it would be a good idea if you were to purchase another wand," Nemo told him. "Our knowledge of the Reverse Spell Affect is incomplete at best; it is not entirely clear how you would fare in the event of a relapse. It would be a good idea if you had a back-up just in case."

            Harry nodded astutely.

            "And, who knows, maybe we could teach you some double-fisted combat basics. Katana style, developed by Japanese Ninja-Wizards in the Dark Ages."

            "Interesting."

            "As I have said, I will be unable to accompany you on this trip, Potter," Nemo said. "Do you think you Apparate your way to Diagon Alley and back?"

            "I believe so," Harry said, smiling.

            "Okay, then. I have arranged another pair of windows for you to get there and back," Nemo told him. "The Apparation wards will go down in a minute and a half, and will be open for exactly three minutes. While you are on Diagon Alley, do not mention anything to anyone about how you got out. We will lower the wards again in exactly an hour and a half, for exactly three more minutes. Okay? Make sure no one sees you Apparate in or out. It is of the utmost importance that you keep your new ability a secret. In fact, make sure you conceal yourself. Personally, I recommend the restrooms at the Leaky Cauldron – no one ever uses those filthy things."

            "Will do, sir."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry appeared in a grimy, poorly-lit cubicle. At once, his hand covered his nose as a terrible stench assailed his nostrils. He looked down, and nearly vomited. He was standing directly on top of a toilet, lid up, with each of his feet on one side of the bowl. Carefully, he stepped down from his perch and left the stall. As Professor Nemo had guessed, the restroom was completely empty. It was not hard to guess why. Harry stepped across the filthy floor in cautious, long strides, his feet sticking with each step. He made his way over to mirror, and checked to make sure that his disguise was intact. Nemo had zapped him with a quick pair of grooming spells. The mass of messy hair atop his head had given way to a thick mat of blond curls (which completely obscured his scar), and his eyes were a bright blue in shade. To make matters worse, he had then put on an outfit that Nemo had conjured; a long green dress, black sandals, and (yes) a push-up bra.

            Harry looked for a minute at the outfit in dissatisfaction. He did not look like a girl much at all, he knew – he looked like a transvestite. He rubbed his jaw line thoughtfully, wishing suddenly that he had shaved before he left the castle. But, whatever else he might look like, he did not look like the Boy-Who-Lived either. Sighing with amusement, he left the restroom and hurried out into Diagon Alley.

            The street, which was normally crowded whenever he had come to collect his school books, was surprisingly empty. As near as he could tell, there was not a single idle shopper to be seen anywhere. A thin fog hug in the air, and overcast skies allowed precious little sunlight to penetrate the gloom. All around him, he could see yellow flyers affixed to every visible surface – the sides of buildings, benches, and notice boards. Harry stopped to examine one, and was saddened by what he saw. It was an advisory from the Ministry, urging people to stay indoors as much as possible, and to report any strange activity to the Ministry as quickly as possible. Harry frowned; the return of Lord Voldemort clearly had the magical community in a state of panic.

            Harry wondered idly if this was the real reason that Nemo had sent him to Diagon Alley – to see what was happening to the magical community under the shadow of Voldemort. Head hung slightly lower; Harry made his way to Ollivander's through the thick gloom. From inside of Flourish and Blotts, a pair of nervous employees watched him anxiously, but disappeared deeper into the building when he turned to look at them.

            Up ahead, Harry could hear voices talking loudly. The sounds appeared to be coming from the entrance to Nockturn Alley, the darker counterpart to Diagon Alley. Trying to be inconspicuous, Harry stole a glance at the group of men congregated there. He did not recognize any of them, at least not as far as he can tell with such a brief glance. On the other hand, it was not hard to guess why they alone felt bold enough to stand outside and speak in loud voices. Clutching his wand within the folds of his dress, Harry stared straight ahead and kept walking.

            "Hey there!"

            Harry ignored the shout from the group of men and maintained his walk.

            "Hey, pretty lady!" the man shouted again. This time, his comment elicited a burst of tawdry guffaws from the men. "I'm talking to you!"

            Harry kept walking, thankful for the fog. If those men had gotten a better look at him, he might have had to answer some unpleasant questions.

            "HEY!" the shout came one more time, this time from directly behind Harry. He whirled around to see that the man had run up behind him.

            The thug facing him was a squat man with a large belly and a well-receded hairline. He wore dirty black robes, muddy shoes, and a nasty smile on his sallow lips. His right hand stood on the handle of his wand, stuck in his belt. "Well, you're a tall lass, aren't ya?" the man growled.

            Harry made no comment, but reviewed his options. His own hand was on his wand, where the other man could not see it. He was pretty sure he could disarm this one before he had the chance to even draw. However, there were a half-dozen others not far away, and Harry was not so sure about his chances then. Somehow, he suspected Nemo would not have approved of a street-duel. However, if he were to cast a Concussion spell with a wide enough arc, he might be able to disappear into the fog.

            "Don't talk much, do ya lassie?" the man laughed loudly. There was an unmistakably sinister tone to his voice. "That's okay, though, I like that."

            Harry concentrated on putting as much bass as he could into his voice, and replied "I guess I'm just shy." He smiled at the other man as sweetly as he was able.

            "Augh!" the man shouted, his face horrified. He turned around and ran back to his friends, their laughter ringing in his ears.

            Harry left quickly. He reached Ollivander's at a brisk walk, and hurried inside.

            "Ah, Master Potter," came the familiar voice of Mr. Ollivander, proprietor of the establishment. He was not nearly as tall as Harry remembered – a symptom of growing up, he supposed – but the wide, pale eyes shone with the same mysterious glow that Harry had seen on previous occasions. "I see you have taken up an alternate lifestyle." The voice did not waver, but sounded uniformly delighted to see him.

            "No, nothing like that," Harry said, grinning. It did not surprise him that Mr. Ollivander recognized him – the old wizard had proven to be remarkably perspicacious on previous occasions. "I'm in disguise."

            "I see," the old man remarked, smiling brightly.

            "And it's a good thing I am," Harry said, casting a dirty look in the direction of Diagon Alley. "I don't think those gentlemen are up to any good."

            Mr. Ollivander frowned. "No, I daresay they aren't."  
            "Are they Deatheaters?"

            "No, not at all," Mr. Ollivander told him. "They are simply the dregs of wizard-kind. You-Know-Who only takes the best, purest wizards he can find for his Deatheaters. These gentlemen are doing well to name both of their parents, much less prove several generations of pureblood wizards in their ancestry. Although, I would not trust them any better than I would a Deatheater."

            "I'll remember that," Harry responded.

            "Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Potter? Don't tell me you have broken that excellent wand of yours," Mr. Ollivander said.

            Harry produced his wand from inside of his dress, and muttered "_Orchideous__ Pansae!_" -- conjuring a bouquet of pansies for the older gentleman. "Seems to be working to me," he quipped. "However... uh… I have been told it would be a good idea to have a second."

            Mr. Ollivander nodded astutely. "There are times when it does not pay to have the same wand as your mortal enemy."

            "Right."

            "Let me ask you, was this Anton's idea?" Mr. Ollivander asked.

            "You mean Professor Nemo? Yeah, it was," Harry answered. "Do you know him?"

            "As well as I know you, I guess, or any one else who ever went to Hogwarts," the older man responded.

            "Professor Nemo went to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, surprised.

            "Oh yes," Ollivander replied. "One of the brighter students to graduate from that place in recent years. A Ravenclaw if memory serves, and it usually does."

            "I thought he was an American," Harry inserted.

            "I think so, too. Went right back there after he Graduated anyway. Seems like he and Minister Fudge did not get along particularly well. Had some sort of a falling out, and Anton decided to work for the Americans instead."

            "Interesting," Harry said thoughtfully, a newfound respect for his teacher arising in his mind.

            "Well, how about that wand, huh?" Ollivander said. He disappeared into the back of the building and emerged, minutes later, with a long, thin box.

            Harry smiled; he remembered this process well. Fifteen minutes and twenty wands later, they found one they were both happy with  -- seven and three-quarter inches, oak and dragon heartstring – ideal for transfiguration. Admittedly, Ollivander had seemed more pleased with another (nine inches, ebony and unicorn tail) but Harry had disagreed.

            "How much do I owe you, Mr. Ollivander?" Harry asked – he had brought along a fairly large amount of gold, just in case.      

            "I will not take your money," the old man answered.

            Harry did not understand. "Why not?"

            "Mr. Potter," the old man said gently. "Unless I have reckoned wrongly, it will be up to you and that wand to… shall we say… well, undertake a rather risky business."

            Harry looked at his feet.

            "Consider it my gift to your worthy cause."  
            "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander."

            "Well, best of luck to you, Master Potter," Ollivander said, watching Harry go. "Take care of yourself out there!"

            Harry waved in farewell, and exited the small shop, wands in tow. Now, out on Diagon Alley, he was left with a dilemma. Part of him wanted to return the way he had come, and try out some Double-Fisted dueling with the loudmouth and his friends. However, his better judgment prevailed, and he set off the opposite direction to take the long way around. He had forty-five minutes to kill, anyway, before the wards lowered at Hogwarts and he was able to get inside.

            Harry spent the next little while shopping around Diagon Alley. He stopped in at the Apothecary, picked up some owl-treats for Hedwig at Eeylots, and was just considering getting some new robes at Madame Malkins when he heard more shouting.

            "I say, that's the ugliest girl I have seen in some time!"

            Harry pulled both of his wands out and twirled around in a fluid motion. The first half of a particularly vile curse was out of his mouth before he realized he was facing the Weasley twins.

            "I say, George," Fred remarked, his face lit up with a rosy grin. "I think that ugly girl is trying to hex us!"

            "With two wands, no less," George put in.

            "Well, no doubt. If I looked like that, I'd be carrying two wands as well," Fred laughed.

            "I wouldn't be laughing that hard," Harry growled, stowing both wands back into his dress. "If I had just barely avoided the hexing of my life."

            "Ah, you wouldn't hex us, would you mate?" George cackled.

            "How'd you know it was me?" Harry asked.

            "I'd recognize those legs anywhere," Fred quipped.

            "You got a minute, Harry?" George asked. "Step into the shop with us. We won't even hex ya."

            Harry followed the twins inside of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes apprehensively.

            "So, tell me, mate," Fred said conversationally, holding the door open for Harry. "What brings you to Diagon Alley."

            Harry, however, remained silent – his entire powers of mental faculty were spent in appreciation of the wonders inside that shop. He'd been to Zonko's, of course, and thought he knew what to expect. The famous joke shop in Hogsmeade held everything a misbehaving young wizard could ask for. WWW, however, took it to a whole new level. They did carry the basics – fireworks, dungbombs, Skiving Snackboxes and the like – but Harry was surprised to see a whole range of products above and beyond that.

            "Wow, mates, you've really outdone yourselves here," he told them, his voice stricken with awe.

            George snorted. "This from the guy in drag."

            "Can I offer you something to drink, sir?" Fred asked. He held out his hand, in which he held a glass of frothy brown liquid.

            "I'm good, thanks," Harry said politely.

            "Hmmph. Suit yourself."

            "So, what are you doing here? On a school day no less!"

            "Professor Nemo sent me," Harry told them.

            George interrupted. "As in, Professor Nemo of the Irascible Duo?" he asked pertly.

            "Yeah, that's the guy," Harry answered.

            "I gotta meet that guy," Fred remarked, a peculiar light shining in his eyes. "A teacher entering into the contest? That's excellent, that is."Ha

            Harry smiled; apparently they had been reading his contest updates carefully. "Anyway, he thought it might be a good idea if I had two wands."

            "What for?" George exclaimed.

            "I'm… being trained to kill Voldemort."

            The silence in the room was thick. If one wanted to shut the Weasley twins up, all one had to do was discuss something serious, and nothing was more serious than Voldemort.

            "Ah," Fred said gravely. "Well, get to it, would you?"

            "Come again?" Harry asked.

            "That nutter is absolutely ruining business for us," George complained.

            "As it is, we're scarcely making a profit anymore!"

            Harry smiled. "You guys are cleaning up with the contest at Hogwarts though, aren't you?"  
            George laughed. "Do you have any idea how much money we've made just keeping Crabbe and Goyle in dungbombs?"

            Harry laughed with them.

            "The Creevey Brothers have been pretty good to us, as well," Fred admitted. "And Justin Finch-Fletchley places pretty regular orders as well."

            "But, Harry," George said seriously. "That is just an added bonus for us."  
            "Truly."

            "We never meant to make a profit from this."  
            "Not that we're upset, of course."

            "Say… Harry," Fred said, after a moment's pause. "There's…"

            "Something we've been meaning to ask you about."

            Harry glowered; he could guess where this was leading.

            "First of all, we wanted to congratulate you on your performance so far," Fred said hastily. "We think you and your partner are leading our little contest."

            "It was on the topic of the partner that we wished to talk to you…" George said casually.

            Harry had heard enough. "Yeah, I know, a Slytherin," Harry said loudly, silencing the other two. He had had to put both of their names on the field report he had made. "I thought you two would be the last people to rake me over the coals about that old House rivalry."

            "Now, see here-" Fred began.

            "It's not so much the Slytherin aspect we were thinking of," George went on.

            "It is this _particular_ specimen of, erm, Slytherinity."

            Harry glared at them. "Do you have anything bad to say about Pansy?" he asked gruffly. "Because you should know that I feel really strongly about her. So think real hard about it. Is there anything you have to say?" His voice was a low growl, and he was surprised to find that he was threatening the Weasley twins.

            Fred glanced at George, who shrugged. "Not as such… but do be careful, mate," George said slowly.  
            "Whatever," Harry fumed. "Anyway, I was hoping that you two could help me with an order I need to place," Harry said slyly.

            "We're all ears, Harry."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "It's essentially a giant hologram," Harry told her.

            "What are you talking about, Potter? What's a hologram?" Pansy asked, her voice sounding horrified.

            "It's a muggle trick, that… you know what, don't worry about it. It'll work, and it'll be beautiful."  
            "If you say so, half-blood," Pansy laughed.

            They were sitting at a back table in the library. Harry, fortunately, had had time to return to his usual form and put his Hogwarts robes on. It was getting late in the evening, and they were mostly concealed from the prying eyes of other students.

            Harry gazed fondly at the girl beside him. "I don't get you, Pansy," he said quietly.

            "Oh?" She said, turning her soft brown eyes upon him.

            "You're… not like I expected," he said slowly. "I've known you for almost six years, but I never really got to know you until this year. I always thought you were just this cruel, snobby girl in Slytherin, you know?"  
            Pansy smiled at him. "I am a cruel, snobby girl in Slytherin."

            "I don't think so," he answered.

            "Well…" She considered it for a moment. "You're dumb, then."

            Harry laughed out loud. "Tell me something, though, Pansy."

            "What's that?"

            "Do you really buy into all that Pureblood nonsense?" he asked.

            Her answer was immediate. "It isn't nonsense."

            Harry frowned. "Come on, Pansy, you're a sensible girl. Do you really think blood makes a difference? I mean… look at Neville, and then look at Hermione. Neville's a pureblood, but he couldn't charm his way out of a paper bag. But Hermione's a really good witch, top of all of her classes."

            Pansy stiffened. "I think that's an isolated example; the exception to the rule," she said. "I think, on a broader spectrum, purebloods make better wizards than mudbloods."

            Harry frowned at the term, but decided not to address it. "How do explain Hermione, then? Is she just a natural'?"

            Pansy scowled back at him. "If Granger excels at anything, it's being a terrific pain in the ass."

            Harry's eyes narrowed. "That's my friend you're talking about there," he said testily.

            Pansy met his gaze defiantly. "You know what I'm talking about, Harry," she said after a moment. "Tell me you've never called her a pain in the ass. She's such a know-it-all!"

            Harry could feel his patience running out. "Okay, I admit that there are times… when she can get a little annoying."  
            "A little?" Pansy screeched. Seeing the reaction on his face, she tried again. "Okay, but what if you weren't in Gryffindor with her? What if she wasn't your friend? What if she was in Slytherin? Would you still be so fond of her?"

            "Hermione would never be in Slytherin," Harry shot back.

            "No, she'd never _cut it_ in Slytherin – they'd eat her alive," Pansy growled. "Look, that's not the point. The point is… if you spent your whole life in Slytherin, you'd look at her differently, wouldn't you?"  
            "I guess…"

            "Well, then, can't you forgive me for the way I feel about her?" Pansy asked, her voice sounding close to pleading. "Can't you at least understand where I'm coming from?"

            Harry held his silence.

            "Can we drop it?"

            "Yeah," he said. "That's probably for the best. I'm sorry. I don't why I brought it up."

            Pansy looked at her watch. "Okay, I'm going to make my way up to the Astronomy Tower to pick up my shipment."  
            Harry consulted his own watch. "Okay, the Creevey Brothers should be starting in six minutes, so don't rush, okay?"  
            She nodded.

            "I'll go find Filch."

            "Okay, lover, I'll catch up with you later, then," she said, kissing his cheek softly and turning toward the door. Just as quickly, she stopped, and turned back around. She pulled Harry in close to her, and kissed him, long and passionately, on the lips. "I love this work!" she whispered to him.

            Harry smiled. "Me too."

            "Meet me in the Prefects' bathroom at midnight," she whispered, her face still very close to his.

            "The Prefects' Bathroom?"

            "The password is Lemon-scented.' I'll see you there!" she whispered, and left before he had the chance to object.

            After she had gone, Harry pulled out the Marauder's Map and scanned it quickly. He found the blip representing Argus Filch, downstairs, near the statue of St. Brutus the Ignoble. Mrs. Norris was with him, which was all the better. A wicked grin spread across Harry's face, and he darted from the library.

            Two secret passages and a hidden fire pole later, and Harry was crouching in the shadows behind his intended victims. He checked his watch – The Creevey Brothers should be leaping into action momentarily with their water balloons. Harry had to act quickly, before word got to Filch. He consulted the Marauder's Map again, making sure that the area was deserted. Harry quietly cast a Bubble Head charm on himself, and then pointed his wand at the caretaker and his cat. "_Soporificus__!_" he hissed. A soft, grayish beam enveloped both of them, and they plunged into a heavy sleep at once. Harry pulled a thick roll of Spellotape out of his bag and went to work.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Lemon-scented," Harry whispered. Under the watchful gaze of Boris the Bewildered's statue, he stole through the entrance to the Prefects' Bathroom. Pansy, already inside, looked his way with alarm. Harry pulled off the Invisibility cloak as she shut the door behind him. "Are you sure we won't be… discovered in here?" he asked her urgently.        

            "Quite sure," Pansy answered, a satisfied look on her face. She stood next to the gigantic rectangular tub, experimenting with various taps. "It wouldn't be much like the Prefects to be out in the halls after hours, now would it?"

            She had a point. "Did you get the shipment?" He asked, crossing the room and pulling her into a tight embrace.

            "Yep," she said, smiling seductively. She kissed him briefly on the lips. "Already stowed it on the Quidditch Pitch. We're all set for Saturday morning." She kissed him again, this time longer and more seriously.

            "Did you see what horror befell our caretaker?" he asked proudly, during a break in the action.

            "No… I didn't. What did you do to him?"

            Harry laughed. "Well, the hard part was getting the drop on him," he said, grinning. "From there, it was a simple matter to put him and his cat to sleep. They were found, sometime later, taped to the statue of Brutus the Ignoble in a rather… compromising position."

            Pansy laughed; a deep, throaty sound. "That's wonderful," she said, gazing at him meaningfully with her eyes. She kissed him again, holding it this time. Her tongue played across the surface of his lips, and he willingly admitted it. Before he knew what was going on, she was undoing the fastenings on his robes.

            He pulled back in surprise. "Pansy… what…"

            She smiled, raising her eyebrows lasciviously. She leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the nape of his neck. "Well, Lord Potter," she said tenderly. She kissed his neck again, and Harry felt his scalp tingling. "I'm trying to seduce you."

            Harry's breathing was a bit labored at this point, and he was aware of a tightness in his pants. Pansy must have realized it as well, as her hands began to address it directly. She continued raining soft kisses on his neck and ears.

            "Well, you are doing a great job…" Harry said weakly.

            "Trust me on this one, Potter," she said. "I know what I'm doing."

            He did, and she did.


	6. Chapter Six

Author's note: In response to a few comments that I received, I will remove the first (introductory) chapter of this fic. **I** thought it was brilliantly funny, but it seems I was the only one. Also, I made a few changes to the last few chapters, and I think they will ultimately improve the fic. I'm not saying you need to reread them, but… yeah, they're there. Okay, enjoy!

Chapter Six

            "The Spanish Fly Serum?" Harry asked, his voice incredulous.

            Hermione smiled at him. "Yup. Tomorrow night at dinner."

            Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Are you sure Dobby will keep your secret? If they interrogated him seriously enough, he might let on."

            Ron shrugged. "I guess that's the risk we'll have to take mate. But I think we can trust him -- he'd do anything for us. You know that."

            "And then, when everybody tries the turkey… fireworks?" Harry asked, taking another bite of his peas. "I know about this potion, Hermione. It's no light aphrodisiac."

            Hermione laughed. "Yeah, all the better, right?"

            Ron was all smiles. "You were right, Harry. Once I got that first lark under my belt, I've just been hungry for more."

            Harry sighed resignedly, but he could not help the grin that took over his features. "Okay, then."

            Hermione looked at her watch. "I'd better be off," she remarked. "Snape throws a fit if we aren't at least ten minutes early to classes these days."

            Ron tittered. "Have a good time, sweetie," he said. "I'll see you after class."

            "I'm glad I'm not in Potions anymore," Harry chuckled. "You should take a page out of my book, Hermione, and tell that man where he can stick it."

            Hermione made a face. "Yeah, maybe so," she said. "But not today." She stooped over and kissed Ron's forehead, then headed off to the dungeons.

            "Okay, mate," Ron said, pushing his empty plate away from him. "That does it for me. I'm going to hit the restroom and head off to class myself." He stood up and grabbed his bag.

            Harry put up his hand to stop him. "Uh… number one or number two?" he asked, flushing red.

            Ron's eyes narrowed. "What's it to ya, good buddy?"

            "Well, now isn't the best time to, well, sit down to do your business, that's all," Harry remarked feebly.

            "Oh…" Ron moaned, holding his stomach, a look of utter pain on his face. "Don't tell me that, mate. I can't hold it."

            "Okay, hang on," Harry said. He grabbed his own things and stood up. "I'll go with you, then."

            Ten minutes later, the two Gryffindor sixth years were sitting in adjacent stalls in the restroom. Furthermore, it was evident that they were not leaving soon.

            "A sticking charm, Harry?" Ron asked, exasperated.

            "Yup."

            "But not the standard one that everyone knows – ya know, the one that I could actually undo myself."

            "Nope."

            "Mate, you're going to be the death of me."

            "Now look, if I had used the basic charm, then everyone would be able to undo themselves. It wouldn't be a prank, it would just be a nuisance."

            "But you could undo it, couldn't you?"

            Harry frowned. "Not without blowing my cover, no."

            "So, why are you here? You have to crap, too?"

            "Not so much. I just figured that it would look a little suspicious if I consistently avoided all of these pranks."

            "Oh."  
            "Yeah."

            "I'm late for class, Harry… and my ass hurts."

            "I'm sorry, Ron. Mine does too."

            They sat in silence for a moment. Harry reverted his attention to the potions textbook and resumed his reading.

            "Doesn't smell so hot, either."

            "I know," Harry said, trying not to laugh. "Believe me, I am painfully aware of that fact. Of course, that much isn't my fault. You're the one who took third helpings of beans."

            "Well, perhaps if I had known I was going to be stuck to the toilet seat, I would have had a salad instead!" Ron raged from the next stall over. "You know… if someone had told me ahead of time, for instance."

            "I'm sorry, Ron. It didn't occur to me that you would need more than a few minutes' of notice."

            Ron's grumblings reached the level of inaudible, then faded to nothingness. Harry worked on committing the Sipowitz Serum to memory.

            "How long d'ya suppose we're going to be here, anyway?"

            Harry sighed. "Well, the good thing is that we enchanted every stall in the building," he told him. "Students all across the building will be stuck in their seats, just like we are. It will only be a matter of time before someone wonders why forty percent of the student body isn't in class and goes looking for us. What's more, you have a perfectly plausible excuse for missing class – they can hardly blame you for it."

            "Harry?"

            "Yes Ron?"

            "Who's your partner on all these mad capers?" Ron asked slyly.

            Harry's eyes went wide, and he was suddenly very glad that the stall was between them. "No one. I work alone."

            "You said we', Harry."  
            "What?"  
            "You said, we enchanted every stall', not I enchanted every stall'."

            Harry closed his eyes, cursing himself for his own carelessness. "A slip of the tongue. That's all."

            "Do you mean to tell me that you snuck into all of the girls' toilets in the building?"

            "Okay, so I had help."

            "Who is it?"

            "Let's not talk about it," Harry said.

            "Harry!"

            "Hey! You know who would have been my first choice for partner in crime, don't you? My oldest friend, of course. Only he was already partnered up with my other oldest friend. What was I supposed to do?"

            "Okay, Harry," Ron said heavily. "I'll let it go."

            Harry fumed for a couple of minutes. "Okay, Ron, I have to ask."

            "What?"

            "What's with the Spanish Fly Serum?"

            "I thought we already explained it."

            "And pink balloons? **Pink**, Ron?"

            "What?"

            "I think it's great that you and Hermione make each other so happy, but man… dating her is certainly having it's affects on you."

            Harry could tell that Ron was fidgeting nervously in the next stall. "Well, it's… I don't know, man. I guess… you haven't had a real girlfriend yet, but… it changes a man."

            Harry pondered this. "Yeah, maybe so."

            Several moments later, their peace was interrupted by the arrival of a third guest. They heard him walk through the door to the restroom, cross the room, and open the door to the third and final stall in the restroom. "Merlin's beard!" the other youth exclaimed. "Who laid a dead rat?"

            Harry heard Ron snicker from the next stall over. If he had to guess, Ron also recognized the voice of Colin Creevey. More than that, it seemed that Ron was also willing to let the youth fall into the trap.

            From the third stall, they heard Colin unzip his pants. A clank of the plastic on marble told them that the fifth-year was about to start his business.

            "Colin, is that you?" Ron called.

            "Yeah. Whozzat?"

            "Ron Weasley. Say, aren't you supposed to be in class right now?"

            "History of Magic. I had to take a growler, though, and I don't think Professor Binns even noticed that I left."

            Harry raised an eyebrow in distaste as he heard the unmistakable sounds of bowel movement rent the air.

            "Hey, Colin!" Ron called out again.

            "What, man? I got work to do here!"

            "Do yourself a favor; don't sit down on the toilet, okay?"

            "Why? Did you piss on the seat?" Colin asked accusatorily.          

            "Nah," Ron replied.

            "Well, I've already sat down. Why?"

            "Some **jerk-off** put a sticking charm on all the toilet seats in the building," Ron explained. "So I hope you're comfortable."

            The thrashing noise from the third stall told Harry that Colin was verifying the statement. "Hey, Ron?"

            "Yes, Colin?"

            "I left my wand with my stuff, back in the classroom. Do you have yours handy?"

            "Way ahead of you, Colin my boy. Unfortunately, the **jerk-off** I already mentioned, you know, the **jerk-off **that put us in this situation didn't use the standard sealing charm, and all of our efforts to remove ourselves have come up fruitless."

            Harry rolled his eyes at the stress that Ron used every time he said the word "jerk-off".

            "Oh," Colin said. "Who else is in here?"

            "Hi, Colin," Harry spoke up.

            "Oh hey, Harry."

            "Say, why didn't you guys say something before I sat down?"

            "Would it have stopped you?" Harry asked.

            "Well," Ron pronounced philosophically. "I was going to."

            "Yeah?"

            "And then I remembered the pudding from the other night, and I decided against it," Ron said, laughing viciously.

            "Oh. So, what do we do now?" Colin asked.

            "We wait."

            "Oh," the fourth year said quietly. And then: "It sure does smell in here."

            "Yes, it does," Harry sighed.

            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Ah, Mr. Potter," Nemo said, his voice thick with delight. "I'm glad to see you that you are on your feet again."  
            Harry sat down at his desk and rolled his eyes. It had been Professor Nemo who had shown up, an hour and a half later, to unstick them from the toilet seats. He seemed to take a special joy in finding Harry in such a compromising position. He shrugged. "Well, you know. I've had pretty good luck in staying above all of the petty pranks so far – it was bound to run out eventually."

            Professor Nemo nodded understandingly. "I see. Did you procure the wand yesterday?"

            Harry nodded. "Professor Nemo?" he asked.

            "Yes, Harry?"

            "I didn't know you went to Hogwarts."

            Nemo smiled. "Yes. I graduated the year before you arrived here, actually."

            "Oh. Ravenclaw?"

            "Yes sir," Nemo replied. "And proud of it. Finest house in the school."

            Harry thought about it for a moment. A grin took over his face. "Interesting… so how come you never won the House Championship?" he asked slyly.

            Nemo gave Harry a particularly unpleasant look. "The Slytherins were dirty cheaters," he said jokingly. "But please don't mention that to anyone, okay?"

            "No problem, teach," Harry laughed. "But everyone knows that anyway."  
            "So they do," Nemo agreed.

            In retrospect, Harry was increasingly thankful that Nemo had caught him at flooding the school. At the time, of course, it had caused him no end of torture. Ever since Nemo had decided to conceal him, though, they had been able to drop most of the formalities between students and teachers, at least in private. Meeting five times a week for one-on-one training meant that they had a lot of time to themselves. During their sessions, they were free to treat each other as equals, and were quickly becoming friends.

            "Why didn't you go to work for our Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked suddenly.

            "What have you heard?" Nemo said in answer.

            "Mr. Ollivander told me that you and Fudge had a disagreement," Harry told him.

            "Which Fudge? Senior or Junior?"

            "There's a junior?" Harry asked, surprised.

            "Oh yes; Buckley Fudge. Buck and I got along famously, as it happens," Nemo explained. "He and I were Ravenclaw prefects together, and we still keep in touch to this day. We used to raise hell, back in the day, the two of us. I think that is why the Minister disdained me so much. He saw me as a threat to Buck's image, and old Cornelius is trying very hard to have his son succeed him as Minister. As such, he could hardly approve of our misadventures. Oh, the hell we raised…"

            "Like the Weasley twins?"

            Nemo shrugged. "I don't know too much about the Weasley twins, except what I've heard this year. If you don't mind my saying so, we thought of ourselves as a modern version of Potter and Black."

            Harry's throat went tight. He vaguely remembered the Twins mentioning this as well.

            "I suppose that their legend has faded somewhat in the intervening years between my arrival at Hogwarts and yours, Mr. Potter," Nemo said quietly. He was now standing beside the window at the front of the classroom, gazing out over the grounds of the school. "But when I first set foot inside this building, Potter and Black and their exploits were still legendary. I don't know that Buck and I ever gained any ground on them, really, but we tried. Ever since I first came to Hogwarts, I have held the name Potter in high esteem."

            Harry nodded but said nothing.

            "There were many reasons to respect your father, of which his ability to prank was but one. Of course, the legend of The Boy-Who-Lived was spreading rather quickly as well. I must admit that I… I did not see how a boy could be so famous while being so young."  
            "I've often wondered," Harry commented morosely.

            "I will tell you also that I looked forward to meeting you, all the way back to my days as a student here. I wanted to know what was so incredible about you," Nemo went on. "I had to find out why you were revered so greatly. This feeling was only exacerbated during my time with the American magical government, when word of your adventures as a student reached my ears. So when Dumbledore contacted me about the DADA post… I jumped at the chance, just to meet you, if nothing else.

            "I can't say that I was surprised to find that your abilities in Defense knew no peer among your classmates. It seemed only natural. And then, Dumbledore told me about the Prophecy, and asked me to coach you personally. Nothing I had been told previously about you prepared for me for the ability you showed in this classroom, Mr. Potter, nor for the readiness with which you accepted your task.

            "I guess… what I am trying to say here is that, in my opinion, you deserve just as much respect as your father, and I don't think I could find a higher compliment than that."

            "Thank you, sir."

            "Well. What do you say we get to work, Mr. Potter?" Nemo returned to his desk and pulled out a pair of wands of his own. "I have much to teach you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            The next morning, Harry got out of bed with the sun. He had not had much sleep the night before, but there was business to attend to that day. In a few short hours, the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs would be meeting on the Quidditch pitch, and Harry had worked hard to ensure that pandemonium was in the game plan. He dressed quickly and made sure that he was ready. He paced the grey room in silence for a few minutes, then lost patience and woke up Ron, dragging him down to breakfast.

            Breakfast was a subdued affair. Hermione and Ron had been out late, and were rather tired as a result. Harry was pretty sure that "sitting by the lake" was a euphemism, but he did not care to inquire into the details of it. The mood at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables was equally taciturn, but more nervous. Harry kept stealing glances at the end of the Slytherin table, where Pansy ate in solitude, but his friends did not seem to notice. After an eternity of waiting, the Gryffindors moved en masse to the Quidditch pitch and took their seats.

            Harry sat on the left of Ron, two seats removed from Hermione. Ginny and Neville sat a row behind. Harry passed the time scanning the area with his Omnoculars. Across the pitch, another pair of omnoculars was operating from the Slytherin stands.

            "Hey there, kiddoes."  
            Harry looked over in surprise to see the guests arriving in the Gryffindor stands. Fred and George Weasley, wearing fancy purple robes and big grins, were stepping in front of Ron and Hermione.

            "What're you two doing here?" Ron asked, looking vaguely displeased.

            "Hey guys," Ginny exclaimed.

            "Hello, sister," Fred said politely, taking a seat at Harry's right. "Glad to know that one of our siblings is happy to see us."

            "If you must know, _brother_," George said, wedging himself forcibly between Harry and Ron, forcing his brother to scoot over. "We came to see the show."

            An elbow in Harry's side told him that they were not here for Quidditch.

            At length, the game got underway. Ravenclaw, under the leadership of Roger Davies and Cho Chang, were at a clear advantage. They scored four goals in just under three minutes, and laughter was beginning to descend from the other houses.

            "Hufflepuff is hopeless," Ron proclaimed loudly. "Their Chasers are just awful."

            "I wouldn't say that," Hermione remarked, squeezing Ron's shoulder affectionately. "I thought they played pretty well against us. Of course, you shut them down!"

            "Aww, thanks, sweetie," Ron muttered.

            "Do you two have to do that?" Fred growled, and George jabbed Ron menacingly with his wand.

            "Harry, let me have a go at those omnoculars," Fred said suddenly. He was staring at the faculty seats.

            Harry handed them over obligingly.

            "Well, I'll be jiggered," Fred remarked.

            "What is it?" George demanded, seizing Ron's pair and holding them up to his eyes, choking his younger brother slightly in the process.

            "In the staff stands," Fred told him. "In the blue, next to Snivellus."

            "Is that-" George asked, aghast.

            "Yep. Anton."

            "You mean Professor Nemo?" Harry asked in alarm.

            "Was that Ant's last name?" George asked.

            "Yeah, I think so," Fred answered. "Sounds right, somehow."

            "You know Nemo?" Harry asked.

            "Not personally."

            "Only by reputation."

            "Oh, but what a reputation."

            "Knock it out!" Harry exclaimed, covering his ears with his hands. "One of you talk, and one of you shut up. I'm getting Weasley in surround sound!"

            The Weasleys on either side of him laughed. "George?"

            "You go ahead, Fred. I'll sit this one out."

            "Are you sure, brother?"

            "Absolutely."

            "GUYS!" Harry exclaimed.

            "Sorry, Harry," Fred chortled. "We never knew Anton personally. He graduated when we were still very new at Hogwarts, but he was a source of tremendous inspiration for us. If not for Ant, I don't know where we would have ended up. I just don't know. You see, it was his shining example, well, the example set by him and his partner Buckley, that got us started. When we were younger, we wanted to be just like them."

            Harry groaned. "I'll have to have words with him about that."

            "Very funny, Harry. Still it's odd to see him here, as a teacher. Seems strange that he's the one enforcing the rules instead of breaking 'em."

            "To be honest," Harry said, lowering his voice. "He isn't doing such a hot job of enforcing the rules. He's caught on to my pranks before, but he let me go."

            Fred and George exchanged pleased expressions. "Well, as it should be."

            Harry was paying just enough attention to put a grin on his face. As it was, most of his focus was on the game. Whenever the fifth goal was scored, the real festivities would begin. His hand was on the wand inside his robes, twitching nervously.

            "And Davies scores again!" the commentator declared gleefully.

            Harry pulled his wand out, but kept it low, in between his feet, and began muttering the words to the spell. On either side of him, the Weasley twins sat up straighter, seeming to expand in size as they did so.

            "Mate, you know you can tie your shoes without using your wand, don't you?" Ron quipped.

            Harry ignored this, and completed the incantation.

            The Ravenclaw team was getting into position to score again when screams of terror cut through the air. The audience as one turned to look at the south end of the pitch. There, just behind the scoring hoops, was an enormous Common Welsh. Green and scaly, looking particularly angry, the aerial beast let out a horrible roar that shook the stands, and released a mouthful of fire into the air above it's head.

            "Merlin's beard!" Hermione exclaimed, terror evident in her voice.

            Fred giggled delightfully.

            The Ravenclaw Keeper raced away on his broom, and the audience took their cue from him. Students were racing to the exits as Professor Dumbledore raised his wand. He zapped the dragon with a quick spell, and it vanished at once. His voice, magically magnified, filled the auditorium:  
            "Please retake your seats, students! The dragon you have just seen was a simple illusion, just another of the pranks that have been terrorizing our school lately."

            "I'm so proud of us," George remarked to Fred. "Did you hear what he said?"  
            "Yep," Fred confirmed. "Terrorizing our school! It has such a nice ring to it."

            "Simple illusion, my foot!" Harry grumbled. "I'd like to see the Creevey Brothers pull that one off."

            "I repeat: please retake your seats!" Dumbledore's voice boomed. Slowly, hesitantly, the students did as he requested. "Thank you, the game may continue."

            However, it seemed that the Headmaster had spoken too soon. Davies put up his hand to receive the Quaffle, only to drop it immediately in dismay. It dropped twenty feet below him to a Hufflepuff chaser, but slipped free again.

            "What is that, Harry?" George asked.

            "Stinksap," Harry confided. "It should be putting out several gallons of it a minute."

            "Excellent."

            Indeed, the Quaffle was squirting stinksap in every direction, coating players and fans alike in the foul substance. Nor was it just the Quaffle; each of the balls in play suddenly became fountains of the odious fluid. Moreover, they were now moving with a life of their own, racing over the student sections and coating the fans in sticky, stinky goo.

            "Madame Hooch!" Dumbledore called in his amplified voice. "Please correct this small problem!"

            Harry smiled. If Pansy had done her enchantment correctly, it would be no small problem to correct. However, they would soon have more to worry about the stinksap. Harry looked to the edges of the field, where his guests would be arriving from shortly. Sure enough, Madame Hooch had no sooner set off in pursuit of the misbehaving Quidditch balls than a line of Goblins took the field.

            A procession of a dozen of the small black creatures marched in procession onto the field, and into the eyes of all present. Riotous laughter ensued, which was only to be expected. How often does one see a goblin in a bikini, after all?

            "Goblins," Fred remarked. "They'll do anything for gold."

            "I told you," George said, poking Harry in the side.

            "And you were right!" Harry laughed. It had cost him more galleons than he cared to admit, but it was well worth it. The best part is that he had carried the entire affair off without ever showing his face to any of the goblins – not one of the bikini-clad goblins could possibly implicate him.

            "Hermione?" Ron asked, giggling madly. "What did you do, honey?"       

            "I had nothing to do with this," Hermione gulped, eyes wide in amazement.

            To add to the hilarity, each of Harry's guests carried a picket sign:

            GOBLINS BACK S.P.E.W.!

            HOUSE-ELVES HAVE FEELINGS, TOO!

            JOIN THE ELF LIBERATION FRONT!

            And so on.

            The Quidditch match was quickly deteriorating into chaos, but Harry and Pansy were not yet done. There still remained the coup-de-grace, the finale, the brilliant conclusion to a stream of well-coordinated calamities. Harry heard the creaking of a heavy wooden door underneath his feet, and knew that the moment was upon them.

            Pansy's uncle worked in the Ministry of Magic's office that regulated magical creatures. It was through this connection that she able to obtain two thousand Cornish Pixies, and have them sent to Hogwarts. They had arrived two nights before, and been stored in giant crates underneath the Quidditch stands. Now, they tore out of their wooden cages in a towering fury, and quickly besieged the scene before them with their particular brand of aggression.

            The term "bedlam" hardly covers the rest of the Quidditch match. Students were carried off by angry pixies and deposited all across the school grounds. Pieces of the stands were torn from the earth and flung as projectiles, coating everything in mud and grass. A particularly boisterous crew of pixies pulled up a large clod of mud and deposited it the faculty stands, directly on top of a blue-clad Professor Nemo.

            Perhaps the most unexpected thing to happen that day, however, was not directed by Harry and Pansy. The Hufflepuff seeker, somehow maintaining his wits better than Cho Chang, emerged from a crowd of pixies covered in mud and stinksap, but clutching the Golden Snitch. In the wildest Quidditch match in recorded history, Hufflepuff prevailed 150-50.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry walked lightly through the dungeons, finding his way at last to the girls restroom beside the Slytherin House. He looked around guiltily, and then knocked twice sharply. The door parted just a crack, and a green-sleeved arm snaked out and seized Harry by his robes, dragging him inside.

            "Mmph!" Harry exclaimed as his mouth was covered instantly by hers. He noticed dimly that a small painting of a red barn had been hung over a particular brick in the adjacent wall.

            "Harry!"

            "Pansy!"

            "That was wonderful!" she exclaimed rapturously.

            "Yeah, it was pretty good, wasn't it? You did good, kid," he joked.

            "You were wonderful!"

            "Thanks," he said.

            She put her hands on his hips, and trailed small kisses and small bites down his neck. "We should celebrate!"

            Harry grinned. "I agree. Say, the Forbidden Forest at midnight?" he suggested.

            "Now."  
            "Now?!"

            "Now."

            "Here?!"

            "Here."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX     

            "That was, um, really nice… Pansy," Harry stammered. He was redressing slowly in the ladies restroom, under the watchful eye of his partner in crime.

            "You're so cute when you're all… post-coital," she crooned.

            Harry blushed. "You know, I've noticed something about you," he remarked.

            "Oh yeah? What's that?"

            "Well, it's just that…" He was having trouble again. Taking a deep breath, he blurted it out. "I've noticed that you get pretty, well, fired up whenever we pull a prank."

            Pansy shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. I guess it's just the adrenaline," she laughed. While Harry had been dressing, she had merely watched. She stood before him now, her pale body stark naked, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Are you sure you have to go so soon?"  
            Harry frowned sympathetically. "I wish I could stay," he said quietly, glancing over the slender curves of her body. "Believe me, I'd love to stay a little longer. But I can't. It'll be hard enough to explain my absence for this span of time."

            Pansy nodded, but looked somewhat sad about it. Reluctantly, she grabbed her robes.

            Harry stepped over to her and took both of her wrists in his hands into his left hand, caressing her soft skin. He brushed her cheek with his other hand, and kissed her tenderly. "I want to see you tonight," he told her.

            "Well, okay," she smiled brightly, pinching his rump sharply.

            "That's not what I meant," he said seriously.

            "You… don't want to have sex?" she asked, feigning offense.

            Harry blushed again. "Well, you know, if it happens, great, you know. But more than that, I just want to _see _you."

            "Okay. Meet me here at midnight."

            "Sounds good. I'll see you tonight," Harry said sweetly. "Oh, crap! I almost forgot."

            "What?"

            "There's a prank scheduled for dinner," he told her. "Spanish Fly serum in the turkey."

            "Spanish Fly?"

            "Yeah, a powerful aphrodisiac," Harry explained.

            "Oh wow," she breathed.

            "Everyone will be making out with just about whoever they can lay their hands on, or more."  
            "Good to know."

            "I mean, the only reason I'm saying so is… you know, if I see you chewing on some Slytherin's lip, I'll have to kick his teeth in."

            Pansy smiled, kissed his cheek. "How about if I chew on yours instead?"

            "Yeah, but then-"

            "Like you said, everybody will be grabbing whoever is closest to them, right? Maybe I'll just happen to be walking by your table, and then we put on a little show for your friends. Worse case scenario, you can just blame the charm."

            He kissed her again. "You are brilliant, Pansy!"

            She shrugged, blushing slightly. "It comes in handy from time to time."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Dinnertime at Hogwarts was a lively affair. While the details of the game were obscured, speculation ran rampant among the students as to who had orchestrated the pandemonium. Harry was reassured by the talk around him that he had again escaped with his skin. He heard Lavender Brown telling anyone who would listen that it was the work of Ministry goons, out to capitalize on the mirthful spirit at Hogwarts in those days. Many spoke in hushed tones of Deatheaters. Luna Lovegood was talking about Loki, the Norse god of Mischief. The most popular theory was that Fred and George Weasley had pulled the stunt off, their tribute to pranksters every where.

            For their part, the staff sat in accusatory silence, watching the mass of students engage in speculative conversation. Professor Nemo's eyes burned holes in the back of Harry's head, but he ignored it.

            Of course, while everyone talked, they also ate. The turkey, basted in a generous amount of Spanish Fly Serum, worked its way into the bodies of the Hogwarts populace. It started with Ron and Hermione, of course, who kissed each other softly at first. The other couples in the room soon followed suit, but before long the students began pairing off with any member of the opposite sex within reach.

            Harry could not help but laugh at the scene unfolding all around him. When he saw Professors Sprout and Flitwick locking lips, he put his head back and sent his laughter up to the enchanted ceiling above. He felt a pair of hands land tenderly on his shoulders, and quickly found the source.

            Ginny Weasley, her hair tousled and a hungry look in her eyes, was caressing his torso urgently. Harry took both of her wrists and pulled her off of him, stepping away cautiously. Even so, a powerful urge was rising inside of him to grab her forcefully and cover her mouth with his. He fought the temptation, though, foisting the youngest Weasley off on Neville Longbottom.

            He turned around to find that Pansy was standing directly beside him. He pulled her against his body roughly, and abandoned all control.

            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Well," Neville remarked in quiet words. "That was the most interesting dinner I've had in some time."

            "Hear Hear," Harry agreed, raising his bottle of butterbeer up in salute.

            The Gryffindor common room was full to overflowing with male voices. The evening's meal, which would forever be remembered as "Turkey Surprise" (Or "Spanish Fly Surprise" for those in the know), had produced a strong backlash. In short, the two sexes of the House had suddenly found it impossible to be in one another's company. Several of the boys had initially been congregated around the fire; one-by-one ashen-faced girls slipped upstairs to their dormitories in surrender. The effect seemed more pronounced in the fairer sex, it was true, but the male Gryffindors were all rather embarrassed in their own right.

            Following the flight of the females, the Gryffindor bachelors unearthed several cases of butterbeer and a bottle of Firewhiskey that needed a home, and sat by the fire, trying to piece together the night's events. A small degree of inebriation took the edge off of their mortification, and they were able to sit together, and stare blankly into the fire as a cohesive unit.

            "Well, _I _thought it was a good prank," Dean spoke up, nodding toward Ron encouragingly.

            Harry's oldest friend slunk a little slower in his seat. The general consensus had not yet been issued, but there were many who seemed displeased by it. Ron was taking the reaction poorly.

            "No, there can be no argument on the topic," Neville evinced. "It was a good prank, even a great one."

            Harry smirked. "Neville, have you ever been kissed before?"

            The round-faced youth blushed furiously. "As it happens, I, er…"

            Harry laughed. "I can see why you were so fond of the prank."

            This comment elicited sincere laughter from the Gryffindor patriarchy. With the first burst of laughter, their combined sufferings eased a bit.

            "Ah, Neville, you sly dog!" Colin laughed, socking the older student affectionately on the arm.

            "And from Ginny, no less!" Dennis chipped in.

            Ron glared at the Creevey brothers but held his silence.

            "I can tell you, friends," Dean said quietly. "That the affections of Ginny Weasley are a pleasure that only a select few have had."

            Harry was barely quick enough to avert bloodshed. He threw his arms around Ron's midsection and put his body weight on the ravaging youth, bringing them both to the ground with a thud. "Ease up there, old friend," Harry said, gritting his teeth with the effort of restraining the enraged redhead. "If anybody is to blame for Ginny's actions tonight it's you."

            That took the edge off of Ron's fury. Harry could feel as much in his body language.

            "At any rate," Harry went on. "I think what Dean was trying to say was that Ginny does not give her love away easily." He cast Dean a murderous glance from behind Ron's back.

            "Yeah, Ron, that's all I was saying!" Dean said quickly, catching on at once. "Honestly!"

            Disgruntled, Ron settled back into his chair.

            "Ah, ye bunch a wankers!" Seamus exclaimed. "Fighting over the poor lass!"

            "Say, did anybody see who Seamus locked lips with?" Dean asked.

            "Nah," Dennis said loudly. "But he was eying up Vincent Crabbe pretty seriously. Too bad Millicent Bulstrode got there first!"  
            Uproarious, whooping laughter erupted at this moment. Dennis traded high fives with his older brother, but was then buried under a pile of Seamus, who held him down and gave him a few vigorous frogs in the back before letting up.

            "Wanker," Seamus breathed, but he was laughing, too. "Where were you when all of this went down, Dennis?"

            Dennis, finding his way back into his seat, propped his legs up on the coffee table and settled both hands behind his head. "Me? As soon as I realized what was going on, I made my way over to the Ravenclaw table. There was a Seeker over there who felt a little let down about the game today, so I cheered her up as best I could."

            More laughter, coming easier now. Before long, even Ron was enjoying himself.

            "I got attached rather seriously to Lavender Brown," Dean told them.

            "Parvati Patil," Seamus confessed. "Or was it Padma? Maybe both of them!"

            "Hermione," Ron said, blushing slightly and raising his hand in acknowledgment.

            "Must've been quite a change for you," Harry told him, patting him on the back. "Dinner this time, instead of the couches in the common room!"

            Everyone laughed, and Harry clinked bottles with Seamus.

            "That's pretty bold talk," Ron laughed, smiling wickedly. "For a guy who was making out with a Slytherin."

            Harry felt his mirth wane as laughter descended on his ears. He decided to run with it. "Well," he said philosophically, "I have to tell you, Pansy Parkinson is a pretty good kisser."

            Seamus harrumphed. "I've heard that's not all she does well."

            There were echoes of general agreement to this statement. Harry decided to make it an issue. "What, exactly, are you saying, Seamus?"

            "Uh… I was saying that… Pansy's got a reputation, that's all," he said.

            "For what?" Harry pressed.

            "You know… being generous with her affections," Dennis offered.

            "More euphemisms," Harry declared. "Spell it out for me."

            Seamus gave Harry a bewildered look. Sighing, he went on. "Word is, she's a slut," he said slowly. "I'm saying she likes to have sex with a lot of people."

            Harry felt his anger rising. "Are you telling me you have had sex with her?" he asked.

            "Me? No, I-" Seamus stammered uncomfortably.

            "Anybody else?" Harry asked loudly. "Dean, have you had sex with Pansy Parkinson?"

            "No, I haven't," Dean answered softly.

            "Dennis? Colin? Have you guys ever had sex with Pansy?"

            Colin for both of them. "Nope."

            "Ron? Neville?" Harry threw his hands up in the air. "I mean, if any one here has, then let me know. If not, though, I gotta wonder where you get off calling the girl a slut."

            There was a period of silence. Harry eyed his housemates one at a time, staring down their every objection. He knew what they were all thinking. They were all wondering why he was standing up for a Slytherin. That was not normal Gryffindor behavior. They all wanted to call him on it, but were prevented for a single reason – because he was right. After a few difficult moments, it was clear that the discussion was over.

            Harry fumed, taking a long draw off of his butterbeer. He had lost his temper and he knew it. It was not idle chat that provoked his anger, either. He erupted at his friends for the simple reason that they had the nerve to voice the very concern that gnawed at him.

            "Does anybody know," Ron said darkly. "Who Malfoy ended up with? I mean, sorry for pointing it out mate, but he wasn't matched up with Pansy."

            Harry smiled in spite of himself.

            "I saw it," Neville said timidly. "Her name is Julia Rookwood – a first year in Slytherin."

            The previous moment's tensions melted away under a torrent of laughter at Draco Malfoy's expense. This Harry could allow.

            "ENOUGH!"

            Silence broke out like wildfire in the common room at the sound a woman's voice. The crackling of the common room fire was the only sound to be heard as Hermione appeared in the light. She wore blue plaid pajamas and a serious look. Ginny Weasley was doing her best to hide behind Hermione, it seemed, and staring at the ground in apparent enthrallment.

            "Gentleman," Hermione continued in a grave tone. "It is nearly midnight, and your raucous behavior will not be tolerated any longer. Up to bed, now!" Hermione raised her right arm, pointing to their dormitories.

            As one, the Gryffindor patriarchy dispersed. Within two minutes of the girls' arrival, Harry was the only male left in sight. He sighed, and swallowed the rest of his butterbeer.

            "Harry," Hermione said severely.

            "Hermione," Harry answered in a level tone. "Ron's your man. And those other boys are twits. But I will not be told when to go to bed."  
            "Harry!" Hermione whispered fiercely. Her finger wavered in the air threateningly.

            Harry got to his feet, meeting her eyes defiantly. "Choose your battles, Hermione," he said quietly.

            Hermione faltered. "I don't want to hear anything more from down here," she said in a no-nonsense tone.

            Harry shrugged. "Well, since the party just died out somehow, I don't really have anybody left to make a stir with in here, now do I?" he laughed.

            Hermione's strict visage cracked. "I guess not," she said, an unwelcome smile on her features.

            "Incredible, really," Harry murmured appreciatively. "You've got some kind of authority there. Reminds me of McGonagall on a bad day."

            Hermione giggled a little. "Harry," she said again, softly this time. "Get some sleep, okay? It's been a long week."

            Harry nodded, retaking his seat in the couch. "Good night, Hermione."

            "Good night, Harry," she answered, already on her way back to bed.

            Harry stared into the dying fire for a moment in silence.

            "Harry, can I talk to you?"

            He looked up, surprised to see that he was not alone. Ginny had remained behind when Hermione went upstairs. She stood away from the firelight, concealing herself in shadows. He had precious little time, he knew, before his rendezvous with Pansy. On the other hand, he'd told Ginny that he would be there for her if she needed him. "Sure," he said softly. "Sit down." He gestured to the seat next to him.

            "Harry, I wanted to talk to you… about tonight," she said tenderly, once she had taken the proffered seat.

            "At dinner, you mean?" He asked, gauging her response carefully. How strange she seemed that night – oddly stripped of her usual confidence and vigor. She was almost visibly smaller as a result. It seemed as though he were confronted by the young Ginny again, all of nine years old and too enamored with him to even speak.

            Ginny did not answer at once, scowling instead at the firelight. "I wanted you to… I wanted to apologize," she said, still not looking at him. "For trying to kiss you tonight."

            Harry smiled, but quickly hid it. "Come on, Ginny, don't beat yourself up over that. We all know that Spanish Fly Serum was doing it's job. It was all I could to do to push you away."  
            "But you did push me away." She was looking at him, turning hurt green eyes in his direction.

            Harry sighed, his shoulders sagged. "Yeah. Because I knew it was wrong. You're Ron's little sister, Gin, which makes you my surrogate little sister. I couldn't kiss you, you see?"

            Ginny looked away again, in the opposite direction, away from Harry and firelight alike. "I-I wanted you to know… that… I don't feel the way I used to about… when I was a little girl. Not anymore."

            "I know that, Gin," Harry answered softly. "I do."

            Ginny was silent for a long time. "Okay," she said at last, so faintly that he could hardly hear her.

            "Okay," he echoed, standing up. "Look Gin, it's getting late. Why don't you turn in?"

            "You got somewhere to be, Harry?" she asked him, a single tear slipping from her left eye.

            Harry gaped at her, but found himself unable to lie. "Yeah."

            Ginny stiffened visibly. "Are you going to see _her_?"

            Harry did not answer immediately, so she went on.

            "I've watched you Harry. The way you look at her at mealtimes. I've heard the way you say her name. I saw… I saw the look in your eyes when you kissed her tonight," Ginny said, her voice tremulous with emotion. "Was it the enchantment? Could I try to blame the Spanish Fly? Maybe. But I know better."

            Harry gave her a long, tender look. He stooped over, and kissed the top of her head. "Go to bed, Ginny."

            "Don't go, Harry," Ginny pleaded. "You don't know her like I do. You don't know what she'll do to you."          

            "Ginny…"

            "Harry, you came to get me once, from the Slytherin house. Why? Because you thought I was in over my head, that I was going to get hurt. And you were right. You came, as my friend, to rescue me. And now, as your friend, I'm asking you not to go. Because I think you're in over your head, and you're going to get hurt."

            "Ginny."

            "And don't ask me to keep this quiet!" Ginny hissed. "Because you have no right to do that!"

            "I wasn't going to ask you to keep it quiet," Harry said calmly. "I'll trust your judgment on that."

            "Oh."

            "You say that you've seen the way I look at her? That you've heard the way I say her name? That you watched me kiss her?" Harry asked. "Then you know how I feel about her. You know why I have to go." He turned around, and headed for the portrait hole.

            "Harry-"

            "Good night, Ginny."

            "She'll hurt you, Harry! This will all end in tears!"

            But Harry was no longer listening – he was gone.


	7. Chapter Seven

            Harry ate his toast in silence. To be more accurate, he had eaten his entire meal in silence, and the toast was but the final act. It was not that he was alone. He was surrounded by his usual cast of friends – Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Seamus and Dean – but they had found little to discuss so far that meal. It might well have been the calm after the storm; the group was trying to find level ground after the previous evening's excesses. Harry suspected, rather, that Ginny had decided to share her insights with the circle, and the taciturn meal was the first consequence. Harry knew it would not last; such things could not be borne silently.

            "Oh, for crying out loud!" Ron erupted.

            Harry was not surprised that his old friend had been the first to break. He continued eating his as if nothing had yet been said.

            "Harry!" Ron exclaimed, abandoning his own meal and locking eyes with the newest pariah.

            The rest of the group, happy to maintain their own silences, watched interestedly, as if a train wreck had occurred at their section of the table.

            "Yes, Ron?"

            "What was it? A month ago? When you were ready to spill Malfoy's blood for touching my sister?" Ron sputtered, now beside himself.

            "I remember something about that," Harry said dryly.

            "And now look at you! Dating a-" Ron paused, recollected himself, and continued in a quieter voice. "Dating a Slytherin. That's hypocrisy."

            Harry did not rise to the challenge. Remaining calm, he sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "We were laboring under the delusion that Ginny could not handle herself," Harry said pointedly, glancing at Ginny. "I am no longer sure if that was the case, but I don't know. I won't speculate. Nor do I know if there is any good to be found in Malfoy. What I do know is this: I know what I am doing. I also know Pansy a lot better than any of you, and I know that she is a beautiful person."

            "Oh, Harry," Ginny said as she collapsed in half-concealed sobs. Hermione put her hand gingerly on the girl's back and stared daggers at Harry.

            "Are you off your rocker, mate?" Ron asked. "There is no beauty in that girl. Her soul is as black as-"

            "Can it, Ron," Harry growled, surprised at the malice in his own voice. "I care about that girl."  
            Stand-off. The two Gryffindors eyed each other warily for a moment.

            "She used to date George, you know," Ron said angrily.

            "What?"

            "Last year. Just for a little while. I don't think anything really came of it, but you can bet he doesn't have anything good to say about her."

            Harry fumed, wondering if this were true. "That's hardly any of business," he said quietly. "And none of yours."

            "What do you expect us to do? Just watch while you throw your life away, mate?" Ron persisted.

            Harry rolled his eyes. The rest of the group held their silence. Harry wondered what the group was coming to – when Ron was the voice of reason for the lot of them. "Mate," Harry said in a clipped voice. "What I expect is that you will continue to be my mate. I know you don't support or agree with my decision, but I expect you to stand by me like a friend would."

            No response.

            Harry finished his coffee, and rose from his seat. "I'm going to the library. I've got work to do. I'll see you around."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Over the course of several hours, Harry was able to push the morning's confrontation out of his mind, or at least bury it under a stack of backlogged homework. He slaved away at Transfiguration, labored at Charms, and ran the gauntlet of Defense spells he had to learn. Just to mix it up, he quizzed himself over Potions recipes, and was delighted to find a suitable level of mastery with them.

            It was not as though the day had been entirely uneventful. In the midmorning, a pair of careless students had laid siege to the courtyard on the eastern face of the castle with a barrage of dungbombs. This action was not entirely new, especially of late. The result this time, took a slight variation. It involved Snape hauling Crabbe and Goyle away from the scene by their respective ears, and making generous use of the word "Expulsion." Harry knew that the greasy Potions master would likely not go through with it (Who would play beater for Slytherin?), but it was fun to watch anyway.

            He set his books down and rubbed his eyes wearily. He looked around him for what felt like the first time in days. He was not too surprised to see that it had grown dark outside – the dull rumble in his stomach reminded him that he had not had lunch. He rose from his seat, stretched for a moment, and treated himself to a short jaunt around the library. When he returned, he discovered that he had no more will power left with which to continue his efforts. Sighing, he packed up his bags and left the library.

            It was still a bit early for dinner, so Harry decided to take a stroll around the castle, hoping to clear his head. He wandered past groups of younger students from all houses, and his thoughts turned to a stirring speech given to him by Professor Nemo on the nature of his duty. He watched them. Groups of third year Hufflepuffs tittered over who snogged who the night before. A pair of Slytherin fourth years shared a private kiss behind a statue. A solitary fifth year from his own house sat underneath a tree, reciting facts from his History of Magic notes.

            Harry came to a stop in the eastern courtyard. Down in the middle sat a ring of first years, and as near as Harry could tell, each house was represented in their ranks. The sight gave him pause; it was an unprecedented occurrence in his experience. They had laid out a few blankets, and lit a dozen or so candles. In the middle of the group, the students danced in pairs. There was little in the way of music, it was true – just the sound of their own voices offering up a timeless tune – but they danced on anyway. They were just children, not a one of them older than twelve. At their age, Harry had been wrestling dark wizards for the Sorcerer's Stone, had been braving Basilisks in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry wanted to go and sit down with them, add his voice to their chorus for just a song or two. Maybe Ginny could have done it. Maybe Luna. But not Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the would-be assassin of He-Whose-Name-We-Will-Not-Speak. The group before his eyes were breaking down the old divisions that shaped his generation so powerfully. He could not join them without disturbing their perfect unity, and so he kept his distance, watching from the shadows.

            Nemo had made it perfectly clear that he was a man apart from these kids. He was free to envy them, but he could not join them. While others were free to pursue their usual dreams, to love and to live freely, he had only one choice to make – fight for their freedoms or perish. But he was never to know their pleasures. A single, salt tear trailed down his right cheek. He raised the cuff of his left sleeve to wipe it away, but then stopped himself. He felt a cool breeze blow across his face, the sensation magnified upon his moist right cheek.

            He lost track of time again, lost in the fragile beauty of that lucid moment. He was pulled from it by no less than the arrival of a small, insistent screech owl. It hopped excitedly from one shoulder to the next, giving nervous squeaks and hoots. Ahead of him, a few young heads craned his way interestedly. Frowning severely, Harry took several steps away from the group, leaving them in peace. No matter; overhead a loud bell clanged, giving notice that dinner was served. The children would scatter; perhaps getting as far as the Great Hall intact. There, they would disperse into their houses and learn to hate one another. It was an age-old theme, and one of which he was well aware.

            The persistent little beast would not give him peace. Reluctantly, Harry took the note from its leg, and was rewarded when it left him in silence. He held the small note in his forefingers, trying to work up the will to read it. Had Crabbe and Goyle, sequestered in Snape's office, decided that it would be a master stroke to paint lewd pictures on the wall? With a sense of disgust, Harry pulled open the note and read it quickly.

            And then reread it. "Well, that's moxie," he breathed aloud.

            To the Official Hogwarts Liaison of WWW:

                    Capture and severe hexing of Harry Potter

                    Sunday at dinnertime

                    Nemo and Flitwick -- "The Irascible Duo"

          Professor Nemo's own advice came quickly to Harry's mind. In any combat situation, a wizard has at best two options; fight or flight. If one thinks they can win, then fight. If not, they had better hope to fly. He glanced around furtively at his surroundings, and took the temporary shelter offered inside of a small garden, which was lined by two feet of cement wall. He dropped to the earthen floor and concealed himself in the bushes. He seized his wand with one hand, and pulled out the Marauders' Map with the other. He consulted it quickly, locating his assailants with ease. They were on their way to his present location from the library, and closing fast. He wasted no time in clearing the map and stowing it.

            Harry rifled through his bag frantically, and cursed himself when he realized that he had left his Invisibility cloak in his room. "No matter," he muttered. "When I was a child, I spake as a child. When I became a man, I put away my childish things." He was not sure where the quotation came from, but it fit the occasion. He rapped his wand sharply on the crown of his skull, and performed the Disillusionment charm on himself. A powerful sensation of cold swept over his body, and he found that he had almost entirely vanished.

            Harry was reasonably sure that, no matter how good his hiding place might be, he would not be safe there for long. He left his bag there in the bushes, and pulled his second wand, stealing across the open courtyard just as Nemo and Flitwick were arriving.

            "Where is he, old chum?" Nemo growled sportingly, scanning the area in a single broad stroke.

            "Somewhere in this courtyard," Flitwick answered.

            "Well, check the map," Nemo called over his shoulder. His wand was out in front of him, the tip glowing red.

            "I am checking the map!" the excitable little man responded, not without aggravation. "It is not precise!"

            Harry, pressed against the wall, Disillusioned among the shadows, was apparently out of sight. He held his breath quiet to the best of his ability, but it was no small feat. His heart was hammering with adrenaline, and cold beads of sweat broke out across his body.

            "Oh, he's close," Nemo said confidently, taking cautious steps forward, into the courtyard and away from Harry. "I can smell his fear."

            Flitwick abandoned the sheet he had been consulting and brandished his own wand. Harry stiffened; despite his appearance, the diminutive Charms master was a champion dueler. Even so, Nemo remained Harry's principal concern.

            "Ho ho, what have we here?" Nemo called loudly, reaching into the bushes where Harry's possessions were stowed.

            "What is it?" Flitwick called. He and Nemo had their backs to the other, so that between them they patrolled the entire courtyard. Harry gave the exit a furtive glance – he would never make it that far.

            "An old friend of mine," Nemo answered. "The Marauders' Map."

            "What's that?" Flitwick asked, his eyes narrowing at the shadows in Harry's vicinity.

            "I'll show you," Nemo said. To Harry's horror, the Defense professor tapped it with his wand, proclaiming "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

            "What's that?" Flitwick repeated, calling his message over his shoulder. His little eyes continued to scan the courtyard.

            "A map made by Harry's father, perhaps the most impressive prankster to yet walk these halls, at one point handed down to me by the reigning pranksters at this school," Nemo answered. "This map is a far more precise version of the map you were just consulting."

            Harry was sweating bullets. Any second, when that map finished revealing itself, his assailants would know his exact location. It was fight or flight, and flight had ceased to be an option. "_Impedimentia__!_" he called, casting with his right handed wand.

            The spell hit Nemo full in the chest and sent him sailing into the bushes. Flitwick, with a speed that belied his age, dropped to a knee and fired at the sound of Harry's voice. "_Obliviate_!" Harry had just enough time to get his other wand down and deflect the spell back at his Charms professor. The little man again defied logic with his speed and followed Nemo into the bushes.

            "_Accio__ Map!_" Harry hissed, getting not one but two for his efforts. He dove to the ground as a pair of stunners came over the enclosing wall in his direction. He tucked his own map into his robes and left the other on the ground, and then crept along the ground in the direction of the exit, but was headed off by another pair of red bolts, aimed at the ground level, but closer to the door than he was. There would be no exit in that direction.

            "Nice spell work, my protégé," Nemo called tauntingly from the safety of the garden enclosure. "But do you think you can contend with us?"

            Harry said nothing, but hugged the ground, aiming his wands at the enclosure.

            "You know why this is happening, don't you?" Nemo went on. "Well, I met with my partner Flitwick yesterday, and we were concerned about the adverse affects of your shenanigans at the Quidditch match."

            Harry watched helplessly as Flitwick flopped over the far wall of the enclosure. He had not had much of a shot, but he did not take it. He regretted his lack of action --now that Flitwick was free, and he could find a vantage point at his leisure and start taking pot shots at Harry. He tried to tune Nemo out – it was obvious what he was playing at. The diatribe was designed to distract Harry from their actions, or worse, to lure him into responding verbally and giving away his location. 

            "Can you believe the indignity?" Nemo railed. "Hufflepuff? Beating Ravenclaw? No, my esteemed colleague and I could not let that stand."

            Harry leapt away in a hurry as Flitwick, popped around the corner and sent a wide-angle Concussive out. He dodged the brunt of it, but the spell clipped him anyway, knocking the breath out of him. No doubt, while that was taking place, Nemo had extricated himself from the enclosure. Things were getting radically worse, as Harry no longer had either wizard pinned down, and he was further than ever from the exit. A plan occurred to him. He looked over his shoulder at the castle behind him, gauging their relative position to the lake. Grinning broadly, he concentrated on a boyhood trick he had learned – throwing his voice. He was not especially good at it, but he did well enough. Flitwick and Nemo sent off Concussion spells in distinct arcs (both far from their target) as Harry said the words to the Irrigation Portal charm.

            "What's he saying?" he heard Flitwick call in alarm, right before a seam opened in the sky between them, and thousands of gallons of lake water crashed down on their approximate positions. When one is transferring a lake to a new home for tactical purposes, "pretty close" is close enough.

            Harry dashed for it, laughing a little too himself. Nemo would be quick to recover and close the portal, and they would be hot on his trail. He tore inside and raced down the deserted corridors. He suddenly considered the other map, which he should have brought with him but left behind foolishly. He rounded a corner and set off down the intersecting hallway, red and orange energies crisscrossing behind him.

            Harry's game plan shifted back to Flight, but only momentarily. In a straight race, he could leave the older wizards behind, he figured, or at least Professor Flitwick. Harry took another quick turn, not surprised that malevolent spells were still at his back. On the other hand, they had the map to chase him with, and he could not run forever. Where does one hide from Professors? He came upon a staircase and tore up them, taking three steps at a time. The stairwell he was ascending was on the edge of a tall, narrow chasm in the school. There were two stairwells on either side, with crosswalks between the two of them at each level, but the chasm itself was a column of open air rising up ten stories.

            He doubted the Disillusionment charm would do him much good when racing madly from one place to the next. He was beginning to strategize ideal places to make his doomed stand when Professor Flitwick overtook him. Running was fast, but flying was faster. The older wizard had taken flight, borne on the sure wings of Wingarium Leviosa, and was now firing down at Harry from the open air of the chasm above.

            Changing course, quickly Harry left the stairs after a single level of increase. Breathing hard, he took the narrow crosswalk toward the alternate set of stairs. "Coming across!" Flitwick screamed, alerting his partner to the position of their cornered prey. As he did so, the Charms professor sprayed the cross walk with a Concussive spell that would have put Harry in the hospital wing for more than a day or two. At the last second, though, Harry dove from the cross walk and into the open air. Flitwick's powerful spell slammed into an old bookcase full of bronze pots, reducing the wood to splinters and sending out a resounding clang of spell on indignant metal.

            Harry, meanwhile, was airborne, diving head first into the oncoming ground. He cast Wingardium Leviosa on himself with one wand, and then fired upward with the other at the same time. The surprise tactic must have been a good one, because Harry's attack hit home. Flitwick, aloft in the air, was suddenly engulfed in snake-like ropes, pinning his wand arm to his side and rendering it useless. The old man dipped in the air, and then began tumbling downward. Harry, now on his way up, gritted his teeth, and used his free wand to save the Charms professor from an untimely death.

            It was at this moment that Nemo reappeared from the woodwork, popping out of the first stairwell onto the crosswalk. He watched as Harry negotiated a safe landing for Flitwick, and then fired a wide angle concussive blast up at his young student.

            Harry felt the spell rake across his body, sending stars into his line of vision. His upward progress was halted, and he barely managed a rough landing on the fourth floor. He groaned, and rolled over on his back, his entire body protesting.

            "Fourth floor!" Nemo shouted. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

            Flitwick was no doubt already free of his bonds.

            Harry thought desperately. He considered another irrigation portal, but was no longer sure the lake was in the right place. A grim smile crossed his features, and he rolled bodily behind a thick bookshelf, aiming his wand at the landing where his attackers would be arriving from shortly. "I think he's already out!" Nemo called to his partner.

            Sure enough, Nemo topped the rise with his wand blazing, but Harry beat him to the punch, firing stunners from both wands. Nemo managed to deflect the first one harmlessly aside, but took the second on the chin. He flopped over the ledge and toppled back into open air. Harry found that he was laughing out loud in delight. It would have to be Fight, he knew, and his best bet was to press this fleeting advantage, no matter what his hurting flesh might say.

            He took a moment to weigh his options. Flitwick would have made a safe landing for Nemo by now, and would be setting about reviving the deadly Defense teacher. They would expect him to fire down on them from the relative safety of his overhang, but that would be well answered by a potent concussive jinx from Flitwick. The midair trick had worked once for him against his Charms teacher; he was willing to try again. The tricky part would be in the timing. Grinning, he took two steps back and raced toward the overhang at a full run. He had nearly reached it when he heard Flitwick pronounce the single word "_Ennervate_!". Harry gauged from the sound that the two were on the second floor crosswalk. As his mind was wrapping around this, though, his body was launching itself into the open air in a freefall dive. He had four levels between him and a messy end, so he employed both wands to deliver narrow Concussive Jinxes his attackers. He laughed in excitement to see that they were indeed on the second floor crosswalk, and both spells hit home with impressive accuracy and potency.

            Flitwick dove for cover inside the stairwell and made it. Nemo on the other hand, was still coming around from the stunner. He wobbled in place for a second, and conjured a weak Aegis Charm in a vain effort to protect himself. Both spells rained down on top of him, and broke through his shield like water against sand.

            Harry had other things on his mind. He used the flotation charm again and steered himself over to the third floor, where he could fire down and across at his remaining adversary. He landed and went immediately into a roll, both wands at the ready. This was fortunate, as Flitwick was already firing a stunner at him. Harry deflected the red spell deftly back with one wand, and chased it with another stunner from his other wand. Flitwick retreated back into his cover.

            "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"

            Harry's blood run cold at the sound. Down on the first floor, a look of unimaginable anger on her weathered features, stood Minerva McGonagall. Harry hoped his Disillusionment charm was working. Flitwick conjured a white flag on the end of his wand, and waved it out from his shelter in the staircase. From where the deputy headmistress stood, the small man was out of sight.

            Harry Illusioned himself again, feeling the heat run over his aching body. He stuck his wands into his robes, and held his hands out for Flitwick to see.

            "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" McGonagall bellowed again, apparently dissatisfied with her initial response.

            Flitwick appeared from inside the stairwell. "A training exercise, Minerva," he called down to her.

            Harry smiled in spite of himself – Flitwick sounded every bit as scared as he was. He wiped his hand under his nose, only to find that it spouting dark blood.

            "Potter?" McGonagall hissed. "Is this true?"

            "Yes ma'am!" Harry called down.

            "Well, where is Nemo?" McGonagall yelled, still quite livid. "I thought he was in charge of Potter's training."

            "He's up here," Flitwick answered, gesturing to the decimated second floor crosswalk. "He may – He will require medical attention."

            Professor McGonagall's eyes got even wider with rage. "Both of you, get down here immediately!"

            Flitwick conjured a stretcher for Nemo, and was soon leading him down the staircase.

            Harry shrugged, and took a great leap from where he was standing. McGonagall gave a shriek of terror, but Harry grabbed his wand and floated to an easy landing beside her.

            "Never…" she breathed, her voice quaking. "In all my years… Mr. Potter, you will be serving the rest of your life in detention, and I will take one hundred points from Gryffindor, and… you're lucky we don't expel you!"

            All in all, Harry felt this was somewhat unfair, considering that the previous week she had been talking Head Boy. Harry bent double at the waist, breathing heavily. A thin stream of blood ran from his nose and spattered on the ground. He put his hand underneath, hoping to avoid any further mess. Then he stood up straight and tilted his head back.

            "Are you okay, Potter?" she asked, her voice switching from angry and maternal to worried and maternal in a heartbeat.

            Harry tried to laugh at it, but it came out as more of a gurgle, the blood now running down his throat. "Sure," he said weakly. "Just a training bump or two."

            "I never…"

            "Minerva," Flitwick said, arriving at the scene with Nemo in tow.

            "Merlin's Beard!" the witch exclaimed, horrified at the sight. Nemo was bruised and battered; and even bleeding from several small cuts. "What happened to him?"

            Flitwick frowned, wiping blood away from a cut above his right eye. "Harry," he said simply.

            "You did this?" McGonagall choked out the words.

            Harry frowned, but did not respond. He was determined not too feel guilty about laying Nemo out.

            "Potter!"

            Harry held his silence. Ensuring his future career at Hogwarts did not seem to matter much at present, but finding a place to sit down was rapidly rising on his priorities list.     

            "Minerva," Flitwick said again.

            "What?"

            "I don't think it would be fair to punish the boy for this," Flitwick groaned.

            "There is a trail of destruction leading from the courtyard, down several hundred feet of corridor, and leading to this disaster!" the witch cried, gesturing to the room with broad strokes.

            She had a point there; the room was trashed. Concussive Jinxes had torn apart three landings, obliterated two crosswalks, and torn large chunks out of much of the staircases in the vicinity.

            "It isn't his fault," Flitwick said. "Harry was a rather unwilling participant in these undertakings."           

            "I'm not sure I understand," McGonagall said slowly.

            "I can explain later. For now, we need to get to the Hospital wing."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            Harry lay awake on his narrow bed, trying not to move much. In the other room, he could make out most of the conversation between McGonagall and Flitwick.

            "You AMBUSHED him?"

            "We felt that it would be more authentic…"

            "You AMBUSHED a student? One of MY students?"

            Harry smiled a little. It was unfortunate that Flitwick was getting into trouble for this. As far as he was concerned, this was simply a case of boys playing rough. It was the most fun he had had in months. He considered it for a moment, and amended the decision. It was the most fun he had had with his clothes on in months. From the moment he had gotten the warning by Owl, his body had been bloated on excitement and adrenaline. He had been able to cut loose, for just a moment, in the ways he had wanted to since his arrival at Hogwarts years ago. It was a potent blend of entertainment that was hard to match.

            His thoughts turned inextricably to the group of first years he had seen in the courtyard that evening. He had envied them their peace of mind, the quiet joy they took in their daily life. It was a kind of pleasure he had never really known – things had never been simple. On the other hand, he wondered if any of them would ever command the same skill with a wand that he did. In all likelihood, the romp he just taken with the Irascible Duo was something they would never be capable of. In truth, he had to admit that his life did not contain their joys. But they would not know his either.

            "CONCUSSIVE JINXES?"

            Harry glanced over at the bed next to him, where Nemo lay, still unconscious. He was not in critical condition, but nor was he in especially good shape at present, either. Harry sighed. If his DADA professor had not raised that Aegis Charm at the last possible instant, he would have been in far worse shape.

            After a while, the angry words in the next room died down, and then out. Professor Flitwick, having suffered nothing serious, was released to go his own way. Harry wanted to be released himself, but Madame Pomfrey was her usual unrelenting self. He pretended to sleep while she had made her final rounds for the night, and then got up and let himself out quietly.

            Under the cover of darkness, Harry walked the halls of the castle. It was difficult to tell what time it was (midnight? Later?), but it was after lights out. If caught in the halls, Harry could expect trouble. Even so, he did not bother Disillusioning himself, nor to plot his course with the aid of the Marauders' Map.  Instead, he walked quietly and listened attentively for approaching footsteps. Ever since his unfortunate encounter with the statue of St. Brutus, Filch had become somewhat scarce in the halls of the school. Rather than patrol the corridors for misbehaving students, he was spending most of his time in his office, ostensibly hiding.

            Harry's stomach growled so abruptly and so loudly that it startled him. He smiled in spite of himself. Looking around to see that no one had heard his gastric symphony, he passed on Gryffindor tower in favor of the kitchen. Within minutes he arrived at a portrait of a giant fruit bowl, and tickled the green pear on it. Promptly, a green handle appeared there, and he pulled the door open and entered the kitchen. He had been in the large room for only a minute when he was mobbed by a fleet of House Elves.

            "Is you hungry, sir?"

            "Is you wanting something to eat?"

            Harry grinned; the reception in the kitchens was predictable. Hogwarts employed at least a hundred of the diminutive servants. They did not seem to know or care about curfews for the students – anyone who found their way into the kitchen could expect expedient and generous food service at any hour.

            "Harry Potter!"

            Harry looked down to see Dobby, the particular elf he'd come to know quite well. They had met, incidentally, in the Dursley home before Harry's second year, and had encountered one another a few times since. Dobby felt a powerful compulsion to assist Harry in any way possible, since the young wizard had engineered Dobby's liberation from the Malfoy family that he had served. Dobby, now free of his old vestments, was free to wear whatever clothes he saw fit. Over the years, the small creature had proven to be of eccentric taste, and he did not disappoint on this occasion. He wore a pair of oven mitts on each foot, and wore a red towel as a sash around his entire body.

            "Dobby!" Harry exclaimed. "It's good to see you!"

            "Is you hungry, Harry?" Dobby squealed. "Or did you come to see your Wheezy?"

            "Wheezy? Is Ron here?"

            Dobby nodded and, seizing Harry by the front of his robes, pulled him toward the back of the kitchen. A crowd of expectant elves followed along dutifully. Dobby took Harry over to a large round table set up in the back of the kitchen, ostensibly just for occasional guests. Seated around the table were Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville. In front of them, in the center of the table, was a punch bowl filled with vanilla ice cream, topped generously with chocolate syrup, several pounds of whipped cream, and a handful of cherries. He noticed that Ron appeared to have no lower half to his body – he must have borrowed Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

            "Harry!" Ron proclaimed, jumping to his feet. "What are you doing here, mate?"

            "I was hungry," he answered honestly.

            "Dobby will be right back!" The house-elf piped, darting off to into the kitchen. Two other elves followed him at once, and four of them remained at the side of the table in case they were needed.

            "Well, sit down!" Hermione called. She scooted over on the circular bench, making room for him to sit down. "Where were you all day, Harry? You weren't at lunch or dinner, and after breakfast…"

            Harry took the proffered seat, and was only mildly surprised when a tall flagon on milk appeared in front of him. "Well, you know," he demurred. "I spent most of the day in the library, getting caught up. I wanted to come to dinner, and was on my way, but I got waylaid by a couple of highwaymen."

            "Come again?" Ron asked, looking bewildered.

            "Highwaymen," Luna interposed, her voice wafting over them like a soft breeze. "Spirits from the ninth dimension, brought here to-"

            "What are you talking about, Harry?" Hermione cut her off.

            Harry smiled. "Well, it seems that some people weren't pleased with the outcome of the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match, and they seemed to think I was the guilty party." He gave his friends a conspiratorial smile. Luna, who appeared to be examining Ron's chin, did not notice. "So they thought they would teach me a lesson in Advanced Hexing."

            Ginny gasped, Neville choked on his milk.

            "Who was it, Harry?" Ron asked.

            "The Irascible Duo – Nemo and Flitwick," Harry answered, flashing a grin.

            "As in… _professors_ Nemo and Flitwick?" Hermione asked, looking appalled.

            "Yeah," Harry laughed.

            "I never would have imagined…" Ginny's voice trailed off.

            "Of course," Luna tittered. "Professors attacking students is hardly rare. Once-"

            "Do you think that's we heard?" Ron asked, looking at Hermione significantly. "Right at the beginning of dinner?"  
            "You could hear us?" Harry asked, impressed.

            "Oh yeah," Hermione intoned. "It was deafening. It sounded as if the building were collapsing."  
            "So, what happened?" Ron asked, rapt with attention.

            "Uh… well, I tried to hide and run away, but they chased me inside. So, I tried to fight them, and then-"

            "Both of them?" Ginny asked. A cherry spilled from the end of her spoon into her lap. She did not seem to notice.

            "Yeah."

            "Wow. What happened?" Neville asked. "Did you… win?"

            Harry shrugged. "Hard to say. McGonagall showed up and called things off just when it was getting interesting," He told them. He reflected on it for a moment and then added "I guess I was winning. I managed to take Nemo down, anyway. I was about to square off with Flitwick when McGonagall arrived."

            "Wow, Harry," Hermione muttered. "That's really… impressive. You weren't even hurt?"

            Harry smiled slyly. "I was a little beaten up afterwards. Madame Pomfrey healed me right up. She wanted me to stay overnight, but I snuck out after she left. But I think Nemo might be in there for a couple of days – I roughed him up him a little bit."

            Ron looked supremely impressed for a moment, then slouched back in his seat dejectedly. "Of course, that means that Snape will probably take over his classes tomorrow."

            Harry scowled – he was likely right. "If he is, I'm not going."

            "Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, setting her flagon of milk down emphatically. "You can't cut class whenever you want."  
            "Oh, lay off it, Hermione," Ginny giggled. "Harry obviously doesn't need to go to Defense Against the Dark Arts. If anything, he should be teaching the lessons while Nemo's out."

            Further discussion of the point was interrupted by the reappearance of Dobby with Harry's meal – roast beef, mashed potatoes, and string beans. "Thanks, Dobby," Harry said appreciatively. "It looks wonderful."

            Dobby appeared to blush.

            After he had eaten, Harry accompanied his friends back to their tower, dropping Luna off at Ravenclaw house on the way. He was pleased; he had a good day in many regards. More than that, it seemed that his relationship with Pansy was not going to cost him his friendships with Hermione, Ron and the others. All in all, he could not ask for much more. For the first time in weeks, he felt a sense of deep contentment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "A word, Mr. Potter?"

            Harry frowned. "Go on ahead, guys, I'll catch up with you," he told Hermione and Ron. Once they had left the Transfiguration classroom, he made his way to McGonagall's desk alone. "Yes, Professor?"

            McGonagall, busy writing some notes in a thick green book on top of her desk, did not look up but continued to write while she spoke. "As you know, Professor Nemo is still in the Hospital Wing, and may be there for a few days yet, seeing as how he has not yet regained consciousness."

            Harry looked down. In spite of his intentions, he was beginning to feel somewhat guilty about Nemo's situation.

            "Professor Snape will be taking over his classes for the time being," McGonagall went on.

            Harry did not feel the need to inform her that he would not be attending those classes, and fortunately she did not ask.

            "However, there is still the matter of your… lessons to be addressed. You are to report here at the normal hour, and I will work with you. Understood?"

            "Yes," Harry answered. "What will we be studying?"  
            McGonagall stopped writing, and looked up at Harry with a smile. "I understand that you have a… let us say, _genetic_ predisposition toward animagism. Is that true?"

            Harry nodded, thinking back to a fateful night during his third year.

            "Dumbledore feels that this would be a good skill for you to develop," McGonagall told him. "And I might be the best one to teach it to you. I will see you this afternoon, Mr. Potter."

            That afternoon, Harry found that he had some extra time on his hands, and decided to swing by the Hospital Wing to see if Nemo had awoken yet. Ignoring Madame Pomfrey's dirty looks, he wandered into the wing alone. Inside, he found that Nemo was in fact awake, and that he was not alone – a man Harry had never seen before was sitting in a wooden chair at the end of Nemo's bed.

            "Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Professor Nemo, I didn't know you had company. I'll come back later."

            "Nonsense, Harry," the man spoke, getting to his feet. He was a tall man, roughly the same age as Nemo, with dark hair and thick eyebrows. He wore an expensive suit and several pieces of jewelry. "Come join us." He produced a wand from his pocket and conjured another chair for Harry.

            Harry glanced at Nemo, who nodded. He crossed the room to the newly arrived chair.

            "I'm Buckley Fudge," the man said in an officious voice. He extended a hand and shook Harry's. "I believe you have met my father."

            "Minister Fudge?" Harry asked. "Yeah, a time or two."

            "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter," Fudge told him. "Do sit down."

            Harry did as instructed, and Fudge sat down after him.

            "I had stopped by to see my old school chum," he explained. "You can imagine my surprise when they told me he was _here_."

            Nemo smiled weakly. "Buck, it's not like one of us wasn't in here every week when we went to school," he said. He looked pale and sickly.

            The other man gave a deep, rumbling laugh in response. "Too true, too true. I find it most amusing that you were laid low by a student, though," Fudge chuckled. "Although, perhaps there are special circumstances that must be taken into consideration." He peered at Harry with interest.

            "So, Buck," Nemo said suddenly. "Do you hear anything from Lucy Bones anymore?"

            "No," Buck answered shortly. "Not in some time, anyway. You know, Harry, the last time I was on Diagon Alley I had the fortune of speaking with the Weasley brothers. Fascinating pair, really. Did you know them?"

            "Yeah," Harry said. "I'm good friends with their little brother."

            "Is that so?" Fudge said mildly. "They told me about their last day at Hogwarts, when they rode out of here on their brooms. I knew Umbridge of course – never cared for her. I thought that was exactly the sort of abuse she deserved. Those two had me laughing for the better part of an hour over that one, I'll tell you."

            "Yeah," Harry said, laughing slightly. "It was pretty funny."

            "And they're doing pretty well for themselves, of course. Most businesses are going under or at least struggling, what with this blasted war going on, but they are still turning a pretty good profit."

            "In the darkest times, we need the most diversion," Nemo said morosely.

            "Indeed. I find it interesting, though, they seem to be doing so well, in spite of not finishing their formal education," Fudge went on. "Do you ever feel that you've had enough of this place, Harry?"

            Harry was stunned by the question. "Um, no, not really. I like it here," he said resolutely.

            "Hmmm, yes," Fudge mumbled. "I only ask, because… Nemo has told me that you are hoping to be an Auror someday, isn't that right?"

            "Yeah…"

            "Well," Fudge said, looking extremely pleased. "As it happens, I oversee that particular division of the Ministry, and we're always looking for promising new recruits, especially in these unfortunate times."

            Harry was not sure he understood. "But, sir… I still have another year to finish. I thought one needed to do very well on their NEWTS to-"

            "Yes," Fudge interrupted. "Normally that is so, but-"

            "Buck!" Nemo hissed.

            "Hmmm? Yes, perhaps you're right," Fudge said, looking disappointed. "I should be going. I can't seem to stay away from the office these days!" He got to his feet, stretching theatrically. "It was good to see you again, Ant, and I hope you will both consider what I have offered. In fact, Harry, why don't you take my card?"

            Harry accepted the card without comment. The card had a picture of Buck beside his father, smiling brightly. A single line of text underneath that rotated through the following messages:

                                    Buckley Fudge

                                    Senior Chairman, Board of Directors

                                    Division of Aurors and Magical Enforcement

                                    Ministry of Magic

            "Then I suppose I'll be off," Fudge said loudly. "Good day to you both." Without a further word, he strode out of the Hospital Wing with long strides.

            Harry watched the son of the Minister of Magic depart, and then turned around to face his DADA professor. "That's your old friend?" he asked.

            Nemo frowned. "Yes."

            "I don't think I like him," Harry said darkly. "Sorry."

            "Don't be, Harry," Nemo answered. "He's not the same man he was when we went to school together. I'm afraid he's the victim of many years of bureaucracy, too long being someone important."  
            "He's an Auror, though?" Harry asked, curious. "Or was?"

            "Not in any real sense of the term," Nemo said coldly. "His father would never allow him to take any real assignments. He spent a total of three months in the field before he was promoted to the Board of Directors. I doubt he's seen any real danger since he left Hogwarts."

            Harry smiled.

            "When I found that he was here, I had hoped that I could keep him away from you," Nemo said quietly. "I was afraid he might pull a stunt like that. I'm glad you weren't interested."

            Harry smiled. "I know where I belong."  
            Nemo gave him a bemused look. "Is that so? Tell me, Harry, aren't you supposed to be in class right now?"

            Harry hung his head, laughing. "Okay, that's a good point. But Snape's teaching your classes today, and I'm not going near him."

            "I see."

            "So, how are you feeling, anyway?"

            Nemo frowned. "Terrible," he answered. "But not as bad as I should be feeling, I think."  
            Harry blinked in surprise. "Come again?"

            Nemo did not answer at once. He frowned, wadding up his the sheets on his cot into fist. He held it for a moment, squeezing tightly, and then released it. "It isn't for me to talk about," he said at last. "I have always been proud of my dueling ability. I understand that, as your instructor,  I should be pleased by the progress you've shown, but the competitor in me… finds it a little more difficult to  accept. Do you understand?"

            Harry nodded glumly.

            "Harry, I wanted to tell you that I was proud of your performance last night. You put up an amazing effort against two excellent duelers," Nemo said, maintaining his eye contact with Harry. "You seem to have picked up the skills of two-wand dueling with remarkable speed. You demonstrated poise under pressure, and an inventive flair that served you well."

            "Thank you."

            "That said, your greatest weapon in your arsenal will always be the force that you are able to bring to your spells. When you cast a Concussive Jinx, it could well be the sort that levels buildings," Nemo said slowly. "As it was, you did not put your full force into your spellwork. I understand that this was something of a game, just a drill. When you are in an actual battle, though, you will need to employ far more force in your spells."  
            "Yes sir."

            "But we will work on that when I am out of here," Nemo went on. "For the time being, you have my congratulations, and my respect."

            Ten minutes later, Harry was heading back to Gryffindor Tower when a hand seized his shoulder from behind, pulling him roughly backward. In a flash, his wand in his hand, pointed at his enemy, and half of the Stunning spell was out of his mouth.

            "Whoa, Harry!"

            "Pansy!" He exclaimed. "Don't _do_ that! I would feel terrible if I accidentally killed you!"

            She laughed, her silken voice music in his ears. "Well, I probably wouldn't like it too much myself," she said softly, beaming at him. She leaned in close and kissed his lips softly. "Where were you yesterday? I missed you."

            "Ah, see… what had happened was…" Harry proceeded to relate to her, in brief detail, the happenings of the day before.

            "Oh, Harry," she moaned. "That's crazy."

            "No, it wasn't that bad, really," Harry told her, shrugging nonchalantly. "I actually enjoyed myself."

            "Enjoyed yourself, did you?" she asked. "Well, what about me? I was bored to tears."

            "Sorry sweety," Harry mumbled. "I'll make it up to you, tonight. Meet me at our place, you know, by the lake, at midnight."

            Pansy smiled brightly. "Sounds great. I'll see you then."    


	8. Chapter Eight

            A/N: Here it is, gentle readers – hot off the presses. I guess it is only fair to warn you that this is the last chapter to this fic. Watch out for the epilogue, which I'm hoping to get out soon.

            Harry contemplated arriving on the scene in animagus form. He could only imagine with glee what her reaction would be, watching him transform into his normal self in front of her. The anticipation was enough that he seriously considered the plan. However, although McGonagall was amazed with the rate at which he was learning, he had not yet mastered the conversion. Botched spells rarely impressed girls. In that light, he had little recourse but to show up in the flesh, equipped only with a blanket, his wand, and an overstuffed picnic basket.

            Pansy stood under the shadow of an imposing elm tree, huddled inside of her cloak and shivering visibly. In truth, it was a cold night; the claw of winter could be felt in every powerful gust coming in from the lake. Pansy's thin dark locks fluttered helplessly in the strong breeze as she cast her gaze about, searching for her erstwhile lover.

            Harry Illusioned himself ten paces behind her, and proceeded quietly until he was directly behind her. He did not waste any time but threw his arms around her thin frame, wrapping her up in a giant bear hug.

            "Mmmf-Harry!" Pansy exclaimed, as if upset, but then broke out into satisfied laughter.

            "Hi," he said, grinning widely as he released her from his arms.

            "I thought we talked about not sneaking up on each other," she said, faux-scolding.

            "Nope," Harry said, shaking his head. "We talked about _you_ not sneaking up on _me._"

            "So, what you're saying is that I need to threaten your life?"

            "Couldn't hurt," he said, shrugging. "You look cold."

            "I AM cold, Harry," she answered. "It's freezing out here!"

            He frowned. "Well, I would suggest that we start a fire, but that might be too visible from the castle. However…" He pulled out his wand, and cast a pair of Warming Charms over both of them.

            "Where'd you learn that?" Pansy asked, impressed. "In your extra lessons?"

            Harry nodded. "Yeah, they want to prepare me for every eventuality, including arctic dueling."

            Pansy eyed him bemusedly. "Do you think that's likely to take place?"

            "Not at all." He spread out the blanket before them, and took a seat next to her upon it.

            "What'd you bring us?" Pansy asked, indicating the picnic basket.

            "A few treats, that's all," he said, opening the lid and producing a pair of candlesticks, plates, silverware, two small bowls filled with steaming beef stew, a large portion of roasted chicken, steamed asparagus, white rice, and a loaf of French bread. Naturally, it had taken a little bit of magical suasion to get all of it into the narrow basket. "Courtesy of the Hogwarts house-elves."

            Pansy laughed in delight. "I swear, the things you pull off…"

            "What? Didn't I ever tell you about Dobby?" Harry had finished serving the food, and they began eating in earnest.

            Pansy's eyes narrowed. "You mean the old house-elf of the Malfoys?"

            "That's the one. Didn't you ever wonder why he left their esteemed company?" He proceeded to recap his confrontation with Lucius Malfoy in Dumbledore's office at the end of his second year.

            "Oh, no!" Pansy giggled. "Lucius must hate you!"

            Harry laughed heartily. "No doubt," he remarked. A more serious tone overtook his features. "But I imagine that Dobby is only the tip of the iceberg." Likely, Harry's unexpected triumph over Lord Voldemort fifteen years ago had put him on the wrong side of many wizards, at least the dark ones. Further, Harry had had a large hand in Malfoy's legal troubles since.

            Pansy nodded solemnly. They ate in silence for a moment before she spoke up again. "It's so nice to get away from it all, don't you think?"

            "Yeah, it's nice," Harry agreed heartily. There had always been trying times at Hogwarts, when he felt down or hemmed in. He had been under more academic stress before, most notably while in preparation for his OWLs, but the increasing pressures offered by his preparations for Voldemort cast a dark shadow over his whole life. More and more, he found that there was only one place that he could escape from it all, and that was in the company of Pansy. "It's wonderful."

            They finished eating, and Harry stowed away the supplies, save for the blanket, which they laid out on, staring at the night sky peacefully. Harry lay on his back, both arms under his head, and Pansy used his torso as a pillow.

            "Oh, Harry," She moaned. "I don't want to go back in there!"

            Harry knew how she felt. "Yeah?"

            "Yeah," she answered quietly. "It's been… awful in there, the last few weeks. I mean, I've had a great time pulling pranks with you, and spending time with you, but… its hard being in Slytherin, you know? I eat alone every meal, every day. In my classes, I'm hated by the other houses, and I'm hated by my own house. Every night I crawl into bed, and I have to sleep with my wand under my mattress. I don't trust my housemates at all. I don't know how much longer I can take it, Harry."

            Harry sighed. It pained him to hear her suffer. "Can I help somehow?"

            Pansy shook her head dismally. "Nope. Nobody can. It's just… something I have to face."

            They lay in a contented silence for several more minutes before Harry spoke up. "Pansy?"

            "Yeah?"

            "You know, this weekend is a Hogsmeade trip," he said slowly.

            "Is it? I guess so. I'd forgotten."

            "Why don't you join me on the trip? You can hang out with Hermione and Ginny and Ron."

            "Oh, I'm sure they'd love to spend time with me," Pansy said bitterly. "Your friends hate me, Harry."

            "They would be nice to you," Harry said stiffly. "I'd make them."

            Pansy gave a short laugh. "I appreciate the thought, Harry, but I can't."

            "Why not? Do you have some other boy you want to go with?" Harry asked, suddenly defensive.

            Pansy did not answer immediately. She lifted her upper body and swiveled around into a sitting position, facing Harry. He could make out the edges of her soft face in the pale moonlight. "Is that what you think?" she asked, her voice stern but emotionless.

            Harry looked into her sad eyes, plumbing their depths for the truth. "No," he admitted.

            "Harry… I know we didn't talk about it, because I didn't want to, but… unless I tell you otherwise, you may assume that you're the only one I want to be with, okay?"

            Harry smiled, and was surprised to feel a sense of relief. Whether or not he had realized it, this issue had been bothering him. "Okay. So why won't you go with me to Hogsmeade?"

            Pansy looked away, into the broad sky above. Her pale face was illuminated by the dim moonlight, and Harry could see pain etched in her tender features. "I can't, Harry."

            "Why not?"

            "If it's this hard for me now, what do you think will happen when I walk down a public street on your arm? Any… unpleasantness I have to go through now would be exponentially worse if they ever found out about us."

            Harry nodded – he could scarcely imagine Malfoy's reaction. Another thought occurred to him. "Is it… is it true that you used to date George Weasley?"

            The air around them suddenly grew incredibly tense. Pansy turned to look at him, and for just a moment she appeared angry. "Yeah. It's true. I guess I have a thing for Gryffindors," she said, smiling pleasantly at him.

            Harry could not help but return the smile.

            "It meant little to him, and nothing to me. Is that okay?"

            Harry, still lying recumbent on his back, squirmed uncomfortably. "Yeah, I guess so. But why didn't you ever tell me?"

            Pansy laughed. "Obviously, because you never asked. Girls know better than that, Harry. You never bring up the exes until the boy asks. It's the only sensible approach," she said, her voice sounding a touch bitter. "Anything else you want to know?"

            "No, I guess not…" Harry's voice trailed off. "Yeah, yeah actually."

            "What is it?"

            Harry sat up, bringing his face within a few inches of hers. "Why me, Pans? Why go through all of this trouble for me? For someone you're supposed to hate?"

            Pansy put her palm against his cheek, and caressed it softly. "I…" She closed her mouth again, searching for the words. "I guess I didn't really _mean_ to. Sure, I knew that Draco would flip if he ever heard about it, and that was not without appeal… But I-I couldn't help myself, once I got to know you. You are nothing like what I'd expected. I thought you'd be pompous, and arrogant, and full of shit, like all the people I know and detest in the proper circles'. As it turns out, you aren't arrogant at all. You're sweet, Harry, and you're good to me. And I want you to know that I appreciate it."

            Harry blushed, looking down in spite of himself. "Thank you."

            Pansy's gaze turned to the frigid waters of the Lake in front of them. "To think," she said quietly, her voice bemused. "It all started right here. You and me… laying plans to flood the school."

            Harry chuckled. "Yeah, that was good fun, huh? You know, we still have a little time left in the contest."

            "Yeah?"

            "Yeah. It seems fitting that we go out with a bang, right?" He asked, smiling gently at her.

            Pansy blinked at him. "I totally agree. What do you have in mind?"

            "Well, I know this neat scouring charm…. It's not a vanishing charm. It simply pulls things up of the floor. I think it would be easy to reroute the um, product, to another location. Like Snape's office, for instance."

            Pansy thought about it. "I like it… but what do we scour?"  
            Harry grinned maliciously. "I was thinking of the ground of the Owlery."

            Pansy covered her mouth with her hands. "Ewww…. That's gross!"  
            Harry rolled his eyes in mock-annoyance. "Precisely why it's perfect!"

            Pansy nodded. "I like the idea, I do. But don't you think it's lacking a little… chutzpah?"

            "Eh?"

            "I mean, it's a good idea, and we should definitely do it, but that's a weekday prank, a warm-up. We need something… delicious. Something that would really blow their minds!" She seemed excited about the notion.

            "What do you have mind?"  
            She pouted. "I don't," she said dejectedly. "I was hoping we could think of something."

            Harry shrugged. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."

            Pansy scratched her head, overacting the notion of deep thought. "We could… cast a shaving charm on all the Slytherins. Of course, that means we'd have to include me in that. What do you think, how would I look bald?" She asked, running her fingers through her long, thin hair.

            Harry seized a bundle of the hair loosely in his hands. It was soft and moist in his fingertips. His nose picked up the subtle fragrance of lilac. "No… I don't think I could do that. I like your hair too much," he said, smiling sweetly at her. "Maybe just Malfoy."

            Pansy grinned back at him. "You have no end of hate for that boy, do you?"

            Harry thought about it for a minute. "I've never liked the guy, from the first time we met. He rubbed me wrong, even before he knew who I was. We met for the first time at Madame Malkins, in Diagon Alley. He was decently civil to me, probably because he thought I was a pureblood. But I still didn't like him. And then, we got here, and I became friends with Ron, and he's been horrible since. I never wanted to be his rival, necessarily, but it happened. I think I'd rather him as a rival than as a friend."

            Pansy nodded. "Yeah, he's… kind of a jerk. No, it's worse than that. He only cares about himself, and being the proper little wizard his parents expect him to be. I think I hate him exactly because he loves that whole scene."

            Harry nodded. "Yeah. I would have been content to leave him alone this year, but then he pulled that horrible stunt with Ginny Weasley."

            Pansy glanced at Harry with a questioning look. "What did he do?"

            Harry returned a quizzical glance. He laughed at her. "**Hello!** Don't you remember the two of them dating?"

            Pansy looked even more confused. "No," she said softly. "When was this? I think I would have noticed."

            Harry was incredulous. "It must have been a month ago now, you know, right before you and I got together…" His voice trailed off as a horrible notion entered his head. He could still picture Ginny's face that night in the common room, as Ron stared at her in horror, holding a Slytherin scarf in his hands. Harry's throat felt tight.

            "I'm sorry, Harry," Pansy replied. "I don't think that ever happened."

            He could see plainly on her face that she knew what was going on. "That night… that I saw you… In the dungeons, with Ginny…" he said helplessly, trying hard to deceive himself. In his mind he could hear Ginny's voice, begging him not to leave. He could hear her very words: "You don't know her like I do." He felt close to tears.

            Pansy looked back at him tenderly. No weakness betrayed her pale features; there was only concern. "Harry. Draco and Ginny never dated," she said, her voice soft but amazingly strong. "It was me. Ginny and _I _were together."

            Harry shook his head. "But he said-"

            "Come on, Harry," Pansy said, cutting him off. "You should know by now that Draco will tell you anything to get under your skin. Why tell you the truth when he could hurt you more by lying?"

            Harry was grasping for straws. "But, she had his scarf…"

            Pansy smirked. "Well, I wasn't going to give her mine," she laughed. "Ruddy little pest; she would have lost it within a week. Look what happened to Draco's!"

            Harry got to his feet, but fought the urge to run away. He said nothing for a moment, unable to look at her. He simply stared out over the tranquil waters of the lake, his face feeling hot. "Why-".

            "Didn't I tell you?" she guessed. "You didn't ask. We've been over that part. Look at me, Harry."

            Harry felt tears streaming down his cheeks, and knew that he could not turn around at that moment.

            "You're wondering why you never knew that I was into girls, too?" Pansy asked. "Seriously, Potter, you've got to ask more questions."

            Harry clinched his fists.

            "Maybe you want to know why I dated her?" Pansy asked her. "Look at me, Harry."

            Harry held his silence, as well as his stance, wishing she would just shut up and let him think.

            But she would not. Instead, she got to her feet quietly, and walked up behind him, running her fingers across the base of his neck. "You want to know why I would keep her around, in full view of my Housemates, but I won't go to Hogsmeade with you?"

            Harry frowned, trying to ignore her hand at his back. He still did not look at her, but his demeanor must have betrayed that he thought it a worthwhile question.

            "She was my pet," Pansy said softly, speaking her icy words right into his ear.

            Harry's blood ran cold.

            "She did not mean a thing to me, and everyone knew it. She was not my equal; she was just a little bit of entertainment for me, a little but of company on the long nights. I did not care her about her – in fact, I didn't even like her. I think the real question is not why I dated her, but why she put up with it. _I_ got sick of her one day, and threw her out."

            "Taking out the garbage," Harry supplied bitterly.

            "Yup. That's all she was."

            Harry wiped the drying tears away from his cheeks with an angry gesture. He faced Pansy now, his eyes blazing. "How could you?"

            If he had expected her to cower before his rage, he had another thing coming. "How could I _what_?" she laughed, throwing her hands out into the air.

            "How could you… do that… to her?" He stammered.

            Pansy gave a short, derisive laugh. "What's this, Harry? Why are you so concerned about Ginny's welfare? Is there something I should know about?" She was mocking him.  
            "Of course not."

            "How could I? Easily, Harry," Pansy laughed. "It was nothing. It was just fun, okay?"

            "No," he breathed. "No, that's not okay. In fact, it's terrible. You hurt her… very badly!"  
            Pansy shrugged. "That's the type of girl I am, Harry."

            "What?" he hissed.

            "Oh, come off it, Harry," she growled. "You know better. I'm Pansy Parkinson, in case it… _escaped your attention_."

            "Well, it hadn't."

            "Well, that's what Pansy Parkinson does, love," she laughed. "She's a bitch, a terrible person. She hurts people… yeah, she does. She hurts people, and she likes it!"

            Harry stared in awe at the girl in front of him. He was finding all of this hard to process, and a dizzy sensation was spreading through his head. He shook his head violently from side to side. He could not understand why she was acting that way. She had been horrible to Ginny, and she seemed to be reveling in it. It was exactly the way one would expect Pansy Parkinson to act, but nothing like the girl he had come to know. Taken by an impulse, he put both of his hands on the side of Pansy's head, holding their faces close together.

            "Harry, what-" She said, disconcerting by his rash actions.

            He said nothing, but simply held her there, exploring the depths of her eyes with his own.

            "Stop it!" she cried, out pulling away from him. She stood a few paces away, breathing heavily and staring at him in shock.

            "You're a liar," he breathed heavily, his voice thick with passion.

            She nodded back at him. "Yup. Glad you figured it out, _Lord Potter_. I'm a liar, and an evil witch. I'm in Slytherin, after all," she informed him icily.

            He shook his head, taking a step closer to her. "You're a bad liar," he went on.

            "What?" she gasped, looking disconcerted. She retreated a pace.

            He advanced on her another step. "You're not evil," he said.

            She did not move her feet, since her back was suddenly pressed against a tree trunk, but leaned away from him. "Maybe you weren't listening…" she hissed.

            "Oh, I was listening," he said, continuing to close the distance between them. He came to a stop at arm's length. "I heard you throw out your usual lies, about what a twisted person you are, how evil a witch you are, how … how, if I had any sense, I would run screaming from your side."

            "What…" she said, trying to look surprised.

            "But you made a critical error this time, Pans," Harry said softly. "You let me in too close. You like to dance with the fire, like a moth on a summer night, but you didn't pull back in time this once. Because I figured you out – I saw through your shield. You've pushed me away too late, Pansy."

             "You're trying to tell me that, deep inside, I'm a sweet, kind person?" She scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "That underneath my cold exterior is a loving human being?"

            Harry stared back at her. For the first time in what he seemed like hours, he smiled. "Something like that."

            "That is…" she breathed, too irate for words.

            "I don't think you know anything about kindness," Harry said. "You've been exposed to precious little of it."

            Pansy jabbed him in the chest with her forefinger accusingly. "That's right."

            "But I know you're willing to learn," he went on.

            "Just…" She attempted.

            "You're terrified, I can see that," he said calmly. He leaned his face close in to hers. "Because no one has ever been able to read you the way I can. I know you, Pans. I know that you aren't so full of hate as you claim. In fact, the only people you hate are your parents, and their friends, and anyone else who tells you how to live your life. I know that the one thing you desire above all others is freedom from all of that, the freedom to lead the life you choose."  
            Pansy sniffed a little – she seemed to be crying now. She was not looking at him.

            "The awful truth is that you're just… scared," Harry said tenderly, caressing her cheek gently with his left hand. A large tear rolled slowly down her cheek and landed on his palm. For a moment, she turned her soft eyes on his, a look of utter vulnerability painted on her trembling features. Harry abided in that moment, his desperate gambit teetering dangerously on the edge. But then it was gone, and her tears were choked away by anger.

            "So… what?" she spat. "What difference does any of that make? Do your think your petty conjectures change anything?"

            Harry stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded.

            "None of that matters, Harry," she went on in softer tones. "Someday you're going to fight the Dark Lord, Harry, and you might beat him. I wouldn't know. And maybe you'll be a great wizard, and maybe they will sing your praises across this land. It's possible, I'll admit that. But the sad fact is that it wouldn't make any difference either," she paused, watching his face intently, before dropping the final verdict. "The fact of the matter is that I am going to marry Draco Malfoy, Harry."

            He was taken aback, to say the least. "What are you talking about, Pans? You hate Draco!"

            She beat her fists against his chest in frustration. "I know that! Are you even listening to me? Of course I hate Draco! I'm not talking about Choice, here!"

            "It doesn't have to be that way," Harry said stubbornly.

            Pansy shook her head. "You seem determined to rattle on about things you don't know anything about. There have always been the haves and the have-nots, Harry. There have always been the weak, and the powerful. There have always been those that do the work, and those that enjoy the fruits of their labors. It has been going on since the first men crawled out of the dirt and hit each other with rocks, only one guy had a bigger rock.

It's the class system, Harry, and there's no stopping it. Dark Wizards may be defeated, and good men may perish, but it will be here long after we're both dead."

            Harry stared at her intently, his eyes alive with emotion. "It doesn't have to be that way!" He insisted.

            "What are you going to do, Harry?" she demanded, glaring at him. "Destroy it all? Turn the wizarding world on its ear? Destroy social convention as we know it?"  
            He thought about it. "If that's what I have to do."  
            "Destroy social convention? Who do you think you are, Harry? Did you buy into your own hype?"

            "Nope."

            "Merlin's Beard!"

            He stepped closer to her, grasping her hands in his. "I'll do what it takes," he said, steeling his voice with determination. He gritted his teeth, preparing for his next statement. "I **love** you, Pansy."

            Her face went white, and she pulled her hands back. She took a few steps away from him, not really running, as if she had simply lost the ability to stand still. "No…" she breathed.

            "Yes," he countered. "I do."

            "Don't say that!"  
            "Why not?"  
            "It can't be true… You love Ginny Weasley," she said, staring into his eyes with wild desperation.

            "I care about Ginny Weasley, and she's my friend," Harry admitted. "But I have never felt for another what I feel for you."  
            "You idiot!" she said suddenly. "Stop saying that. It isn't true. You can't love me. You're going to marry Ginny Weasley, and I'm going to marry Draco Malfoy."  
            "I don't want to marry Ginny Weasley," Harry pointed out.

            "What we want has nothing to do with it!" she shouted.

            Harry stared at her in silence for a long moment. He had never seen her act like this. No matter what else he might say for her, she had always been in control before. At that moment, her composure had slipped. She stood there, underneath the tree, panting and staring at him with wide eyes.

            "You love me, too…" he said quietly, finally seeing the truth.

            "Ha!" she scoffed triumphantly. "You presume too much!" But then she covered her mouth with her hand, and her face contorted with emotion.

            Harry took the hand away from her face, and stared at her for a brief moment, and she dissolved into tears under his gaze. He shook his head, slowly, and smiled at her sweetly. She tried to smile back. He leaned in and kissed her quivering lips for one long, perfect moment.

            "I love you, Pansy," he tried again.

            "Don't," she said in a quavering voice. "Please. Look… Let's not talk about it, okay? Let's not talk about the future, or anything… like that. Let's just enjoy the moment."

            "Okay, Pansy," he said, his heart heavy with resignation.

            "Look, I'll tell you what. I'm going to spend Saturday in the Three Broomsticks. It's never busy in there these days; I'll probably be alone most of the day. You can stop in and have a butterbeer with me. Does that sound good?"

            Harry nodded. "I'd like that."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

            The week passed in relative silence. Of course, the WWW contest did not stop altogether, but it seemed to have died down some. On Tuesday, Ron and Hermione successfully dyed all the pages of every book in the library pink, creating a headache for anyone else trying to study that day. Later that night, the Creevey Brothers were caught trying to respond – Professor Sprout intercepted them in the kitchens with several pounds of the active ingredient from Canary Creams. Last Harry had heard, they were going to spend the rest of their academic careers mopping the expansive Hogwarts dungeons.

            Thursday evening, however, Harry and Pansy struck again. They cast a powerful Scouring Charm on the floor in the Owlery, and pumped the product into Snape's office. By the time the trick was discovered, the large room was caked in nearly a foot of owl droppings, feathers, and random dirt. Snape was, of course, livid, but he was not the only one. Dennis and Colin, mops in hand, swore bloody revenge on the perpetrator. All who witnessed the spectacle declared the funniest sight since the Twins made their infamous exit from the school the previous year. Harry and Pansy were forced to rely on second-hand accounts though; at the time in question, they were celebrating together in a broom closet on the fourth level.

            Professor Nemo returned to classes on Wednesday, looking slightly bruised, but no worse for the wear. Harry returned to DADA classes that day, and marveled that no one asked him about the two classes he had missed. Harry and Nemo went right back to work on his personal training that afternoon, and Harry joined McGonagall after that. Within just three days, he had nearly mastered the art of Animagism, much to the surprise and delight of his instructor.

            Harry, for his part, was not surprised. Animagism was something he had been dreaming of since his third year. More than that, though, he could tell that he was rapidly becoming more powerful. He thought back often to the first time he had been in Ollivanders. They had tried different wands for over an hour, each one as useless as the last, until at last he found the right wand. Or, as Ollivander would say, the right wand chose him. As soon as he'd picked the wand up, he'd known it was the right one. He could feel it – heat in his fingertips, a surge of energy down his arm, a swell of emotion in his chest – and he knew. Now, every time he picked up a wand – any wand – he could feel the energy just waiting to be poured out. Nemo's advice after their confrontation had been to employ more force in the spells he cast, and in just a few days Harry seemed to have made the adjustment.

            It was a good thing that this conversion occurred when it did, because even though he had no way of knowing it, that weekend would provide his most serious trial.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

            "Oy, Hermione!" Ron groaned loudly. "I rather think you have enough _books_, don't you?"

            Hermione had been glancing at a shelf of Dark Age charms sourcebooks. She stopped this only long enough to affix upon her beau the most severe of expressions. "One can _never_ have enough books," she said loudly, her voice sounding threatenting. With that, she turned back to the book shelf and pulled out a thick volume, The Vade Mecum of Architectural Charms, and took a seat on the ground, flipping the pages of the thick tome enthusiastically.

            Ginny, who had been watching in silence, dropped to the ground beside Hermione and watched over his shoulder, rapt with attention.

            'Oh, brother," Ron muttered to Harry, quietly enough that they would not overhear him. "We'll just have a look around sign, then, okay?"

            They took the silence as approval and left the small bookstore. Once outside, they closed their thick cloaks immediately, trying to block out the frosty air. "What do you say, Harry?" Ron said, trying to submerge his head inside the billowing garments. "Do you think we could make it to Honeydukes and back before they noticed we were gone?"

            Harry laughed in the face of the biting wind. "Mate, I think we could make it to China and back before they pulled their noses out of that book." Laughing heartily, the two friends trudged through the snow in the direction of the sweets shop.

            They had not taken more than twenty paces when the air was rent by the deafening wail of a siren. Screams irrupted from everywhere around them; every storefront was full of panicked wizards. The klaxons continued their cry for several seconds as the boys looked around uncomprehendingly. Harry finally turned his gaze skyward, and his stomach lurched at the sight. Hanging in the sky, high above Hogsmeade, was the ghastly, green shape of a skull with a snake issuing forth from its mouth as some manner of slithering tongue. It was the Dark Mark – the symbol of the Deatheaters and their Dark Lord.

            "Bilmey…" Ron breathed.

            Harry glanced back at the entrance to the bookstore immediately. It was not long before his thoughts turned to another, a solitary girl sitting in a pub across the village from them. At present, they stood along the periphery of the village, likely far away from most of the action. The Three Broomsticks, however, was right in the middle of both. "Ron!" Harry said urgently, seizing his friend's collar forcibly. "Get back in there, with the girls! Make sure their safe." With that, he thrust Ron back in the direction they had just come from.

            Ron took a few steps and then turned back to face him defiantly. "Wait! Where are you going?"

            "Go, Ron!"

            "You're not going to try to fight, are you?" Ron looked angry but scared.

            Harry pondered it for a split second. "No, of course not," he shouted. "I have to – I have to make sure that Pansy's safe!"

            "Are you daft?" Ron shouted back. "You can't go out there! They'll kill you, mate!"

            "Just go, RON!" Harry shouted.

            Ron stood his ground.

            Harry bent over and scooped up a thick cluster of snow, which he flung at Ron. His aim was not very good, but the other youth threw up his hands to cover his face. Harry seized the chance and Apparated away.

            He appeared behind the bar of the Three Broomsticks, exactly what he was hoping for. A quick glance around confirmed his suspicion – the small pub was at the epicenter of the attack. The bartender, Madame Rosmerta, was cowering behind the bar herself, a trio of frightened patrons beside her. The large windows on the street side of the establishment had been blown in, covering the room in broken glass and debris. Outside, dark figures swirled about on broomsticks, letting off spells with their wands. Many tables in the room were overturned, and a group of third years were taking shelter behind the thick oak of the front door, their faces white with terror. In the far corner, with her back against an overturned table, was Pansy. She was hugging her knees, but she had her wand pulled out, and her eyes danced nervously around.

            Harry felt relief wash over him – she was safe. It had been less than two minutes since the time the alarms had sounded, but he had been gripped with a sense of terror that he had been too late. He wasted no more time but placed both of his palms on top of the bar and vaulted over. He crossed the room quickly, but was only halfway across it when a bolt of green energy flew in through the gaping hole that was once the front of the building. Harry dove under the nearest table and rolled around so that he was facing the oncoming attackers, his wand drawn.

            But none came. The shadow of several flying figures passed in front of the establishment. Harry gave Pansy another glance, and then crossed the intervening distance in a burst of speed. He slammed into the ground by her side, taking shelter behind the tabletop.

            "Pansy!" He called out through his heavy breathing. "Are you okay?"

            Pansy nodded, seeming incapable of speech.

            "We've got to get out of here," he hissed. He stole a glance around the corner of the tabletop. His entire plan had succeeded masterfully up to this point – the place where he made sure she was okay – but promptly ran out of gas. Where, exactly, could they go? Pansy could not Apparate, and even if she could, the others would still be stranded. On an impulse, he looked over at the nearest wall, and his heart sank. The fireplace inset in the wall, which normally roared with a great fire, had been obliterated by a powerful spell. There was no fireplace left at all – just a large gash in the brick. Lying on the ground nearby, however, was a large bag of Floo powder. It had been tipped over, and much of the precious resources poured out, but there was still plenty left to transport a dozen people.

            "Madame Rosmerta!" he shouted out, waiting for a response. "Rosmerta!"

            "What?" came the panicked reply.

            "Is there another fireplace in here? In the back maybe?"

            "Upstairs!" she called back.

            "Is it linked up to the Floo Network?" he yelled, hoping fervently.

            There was a pause. "YES!"

            Harry darted from behind the tabletop and raced toward the bag of Floo Powder. He had half expected a rain of killing curses to chase him to it, but none came. He scooped up the bag and then stepped into the gaping hole that had been a fireplace the day before. The stairwell was only a few strides from his present location. Cautiously, he peered around the corner, gauging the scene outside. He could still see Deatheaters swooping in the distance, but not appeared to be bothering with their present location. It was only a matter of time until the enemy decided to clean this place out, he knew.

            "Rosmerta!"

            "What?"

            "I'm going to go and make sure the top floor is clear!" he shouted back. "If it is, I'll come back for you all!"

            "Okay!"

            "Pansy!" he hissed, beckoning to the terrified Slytherin. "Pansy!"

            Pansy turned to regard him with wide eyes. Slowly, she shook her head.

            "Come on!" he said. He pointed his wand in the direction of the open store front. "I'll cover you!"

            The pale-faced girl stared blankly for another moment, then nodded. She did not, however, move.

            "Quickly!"

            Pansy repositioned herself into a crouching stance, and then sprang toward Harry. He took his eyes off of her and watched the storefront, the tip of his wand twitching anxiously. She slammed into the wall next to him, and then latched on to his arm in fear. Harry kept his eyes ahead, toward the looming Deatheaters, and then stepped away from the wall, toward the staircase. He seized Pansy by the shoulder, and pulled her out of the hole, keeping his body between her and danger. Without averting his eyes, he shoved her into the staircase, and only then did he turn to follow her.

            At the base of the stairs, he ceased her wrist with his left hand, and led her upstairs. His right hand held his wand, and remained pointed outward. "Okay, we're gonna send you back to Hogwarts, and then I'll go back for the others, got it?"

            "Yeah…"

            "Keep your wand out."

            At the top of the stairs, they found themselves in a narrow corridor, with a pair of closed doors lining each side. The air was almost perfectly still, and the only sound to be heard was the faint remainder of whatever trickled into the building from outside. A small amount of gray light filtered in through a broken window at the far end. Taking a deep breath, Harry released Pansy's wrist and turned the doorknob closest to them, stepping inside the room as quickly and quietly as he was able. He let out an uneasy breath when he saw that there were no Deatheaters inside. Unfortunately, nor was there a fireplace. He stepped back into the hallway, shutting the door silently behind him. He approached the second door, this one on his left side, and slipped through it. This room was but a small closet, with a couple of old jackets hanging in it. He frowned, closing the door again.

            Harry glanced back down the stairwell, listened for the sound of footsteps. Hearing and seeing nothing, he took Pansy's wrist again, and began a slow march across the narrow corridor. Every other step, he whipped his head around to make sure that no one was sneaking up on them. A large explosion sounded from outside, causing them both to jump. Harry tried to relax, but his heart was pounding heavily in his chest. The broken window in front of them troubled him – it seemed likely that _someone _had forced entry into the building.

            After what seemed like an hour, they arrived at the far end of the corridor. A waft of frosty air was pouring in through the broken window. The cold air felt refreshing against his skin, and he realized that he was sweating profusely. There were two doors there, one on each side. He locked eyes with Pansy, and then flitted his gaze back toward the stairwell. A perplexed look flashed across her pale face in response. She was shaking badly. Harry frowned, seized her right arm, and pointed her wand arm in the direction from which they had come. She nodded her comprehension this time.

            Harry's heart continued to pound painfully inside his chest as he faced the door on his right. He used his left sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow, then turned the handle and stole inside. He was at once bathed in orange light – against the far wall, a fire blazed brightly. He looked around the room frantically, but sighed in relief when he saw that it was empty. He reached out into the hall and pulled Pansy in behind him. With heavy steps they strode purposefully and quickly across the room. Harry wasted no time in pulling out a wand of Floo powder and throwing it into the fireplace. The orange flames hissed loudly and burned green.

            "Okay, Pansy," he breathed. "Go."

            "Come with me," she managed. She was shivering uncontrollably.

            "I can't. I have to go back downstairs and get the others out."

            Pansy looked on the verge of tears.

            Harry put his hand tenderly on her shoulder. "I'll be fine. Just make sure you're okay, and then I won't worry. All you have to do is step into the flames, and say the word Hogwarts'. Okay?"

            "_Expelliarmus!_"

            Harry whirled around in horror as he saw both of their wands fly from their hands and in the direction of the door they had just entered from. He followed their trajectory as they flew across the room and fell at the feet of a dark figure standing in the door frame. He cursed himself silently – he should have checked the fourth door before trying to send Pansy away. He had been in such a hurry to get her to safety… But there was no time to think about that now. She had put on a little weight, and seemed healthier than the last time he saw her, but he recognized her at once. Bellatrix Lestrange was the sort of woman who demanded one's full attention.

            Harry's blood boiled with rage, clouding his thoughts. Before him stood the most hated of Deatheaters, perhaps the most vile creature in the world, aside from her master. Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured Neville's parents, Harry knew, but more than that she had taken the life of Sirius Black. Harry's hatred for her was a palpable force, and he was not surprised to find that his empty fists were shaking.

            "What a sweet moment," the Deatheater mocked, her voice thick with sarcasm.

            Harry's terror was suspended with a rash of lucid thought. _Fight or Flight._ Harry gave the fire behind him a furtive glance. The flames still burned a bright shade of green. His previous encounter with this lethal witch told him that he could expect a couple of minutes' worth of grandstanding before she killed them.

            "_Don't worry about me, baby. I'll be fine. You go on and I'll handle the nasty Deatheaters all by my lonesome_," the witch droned on.

            "Oh god… _Bellatrix_…" Pansy wailed.

            Harry took his eyes from his opponent long enough to steal a look at his companion. If she had scared before, it was nothing compared to the look in her eyes at that moment. He took a cautious step forward, so that he was almost between the two women.

            Bellatrix laughed out loud -- a horrible, rasping sound. Her wand vibrated a little bit in the action, but remained firmly rooted in her long fingers, and pointed at Harry's heart. "Look at this, will you?" she cackled. "He's trying to save her life! What on earth…" Her voice trailed off suddenly, and she looked between then wonderingly. "Oh no… Don't tell me… The two of you – together?! Oh, Pansy, what would your parents think!" She laughed so hardly that she threw her head back in convulsions.

            Harry seized his moment. He stiff armed Pansy roughly in her shoulder, sending the surprised girl hurtling into the green flames. She was not long in regaining her wits, because at the sound of the word "Hogwarts" her body disappeared. His right arm lapsed back to his side, staying in full sight of the wary death eater, but creeping around ever so slightly to his backside.

            Bellatrix eyed Harry bemusedly, taking another step in. He knew that he would never make it to the fireplace in time to avoid her spell. "You twit!" she spat. "Obviously, I wasn't going to kill _her._ Although, her parents might, after they hear about this…"

            Harry's mind raced furiously. Was she implying that she knew the Parkinsons? Did that make them-

            "You didn't know…" Bellatrix breathed, realization dawning. She was laughing again. "You… were dating her, and you… didn't know that her parents… were in the Dark Lord's employ?"

            Harry could only stare back blankly.

            "Oh, this is too priceless… wait until the others hear about this," she cackled, her voice cruel and nasty. "You stupid, filthy half-blood… You're too dumb to live any longer."

            Harry took a step back, as if in terror. Somehow, he did not find the emotion hard to simulate. He knew that every foot he could put between them would give him another split second when she invariably cast the killing curse in his direction.

            "Not another step!" Bellatrix hissed, gesturing with the wand threateningly. "Make no mistake, _child_, I will enjoy this. I suffered dearly after our last meeting. Although, I imagine I will regain my Lord's favor when I finally put this troublesome nuisance to his death."

            Harry stiffened, readying himself.

            "As I recall, I owe you a lesson in manners…" She growled, her insane eyes dancing with the orange firelight.

            Harry readied himself. There would be no torture this time, no toying with the prey. Bellatrix Lestrange was going to kill him. Unbidden, the words of a previous DADA professor floated into his mind: "There's no countercurse; there's no blocking it."

            Bellatrix's eyes widened as she raised her wand. She jabbed it violently in his direction, screaming those fateful words: "_AVADA KEDAVRA_".

            Harry threw himself at the ground at the last possible instant. The flash of green light that issued from her wandtip passed narrowly over his head as he fell to the side. Even as he fell, his arm disappeared behind his back to where his second wand was stowed. In a lightning quick motion, he pulled out the weapon and fired a powerful concussive curse back at his attacker.

            Later, Harry would think about Nemo's advice in the Hospital wing earlier that week. If Nemo had seen that spell, he would have been pleased. It was the most potent spell that Harry had ever cast in his young life, and it slammed into Bellatrix Lestrange's chest with a force he would not have imagined possible. She rocketed backward, and slammed powerfully into wall behind her. The wall, taking the force of her impact as well as some of the original spell, gave way and the Deatheater was flung out into the street.

            Harry did not waste his precious time. "_Acthio-_". Confused, her wiped his nose and was startled to see his arm bloodied by the action. His nose was spouting blood, likely the result of its proximity to the lethal green light. He tried again. "_Accio Wands!"_ He snatched both of the projectiles from the air, pocketing Pansy's and brandishing his own.

            He dropped into a crouching position, the better to avoid any spells that came back in from the hole in the wall. He had knocked Nemo out cold with a pair of those spells before, but somehow he knew he would not be so lucky with this Deatheater. He scowled angrily. He calculated his position carefully; he knew that a stunning spell would likely never reach the Witch – she'd shown the ability to deflect those in their last encounter. Another concussive curse? He did not doubt that she would shield herself from that. He frowned grimly. While his counterattack had saved his life and battered her severely, it left them in a dicey position. She was outside, he was inside, and a giant hole was the point of intersection for their realities. He could either race over to the wall and fire down, or else wait until –

            It happened within a heartbeat. He had been training his eyes on the gap in the wall when it was suddenly filled with the body of one supremely angry Deatheater. A green energy pulsed out from her wand tip in his direction. He twisted bodily around it, sprawling out on his backside on the ground. He was dimly aware of the gash opening in his left leg by the spell scant inches away from it. A second pulse of green energy appeared, crawling by at a terribly slow, definite pace from his wand tip to the woman now landing on the floor of the room. He watched as the killing curse hit home, right between her wide eyes. A terrible slit tore up her forehead in an unmistakable lightning pattern, and she fell back… back… and out of sight.

            The words were ringing his ears; the terrible words to the King Unforgivable Curse. That single, damning phrase rung in his ears… in his own voice. He could scarcely breathe. He gaped at the awful stillness in the room for a moment before his wits returned to him. He was still in a battle – while one enemy had been taken down, and permanently, there were still many Deatheaters in the vicinity. He got to his feet, shakily at first, but he quickly regained sure footing. He scampered over to the hole in the wall and peered down.

            He dodged his head back inside as another green jet fired up at him. Down below, the lifeless body of Bellatrix Lestrange lay sprawled out on the ground. A pool of blood spread out from the wound on her head, spreading out beneath her body in a scarlet halo. Next to her, of course, had been another Deatheater, and he had greeted Harry in the most predictable manner.

            Harry thought quickly. He disappeared through the open door to his side, again lowering his body as low as he could while remaining on his feet. He quickly assured that the hallway was secure, and then popped up in front of the window. With lightning speed, Harry fired a pair of stunning spells down at the Deatheater from the new vantage point. He thought grimly that the stunt should not have worked, but apparently this Deatheater was not nearly as formidable (or as bright) as the last had been – Harry's twin spells raked across his body. Unconscious, the evil wizard toppled over next to the corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange.

            Harry glanced furtively around the narrow alleyway between the Three Broomsticks and the next store over. Nothing moved. He listened for a second, trying to pick out the sounds of the raging Deatheater battle, but he could not pick any up. Frowning with determination, he ducked back into the hallway. He quickly checked to see that the last room was uninhabited, and then stole down the stairwell at the far end.

            When he appeared on the ground floor, he was greeted by an unwelcome sight. The previous occupants of the room had vanished, and all that remained was a pair of dark figures. Harry turned around and stole inside the shelter of the stairwell, but not before he was spotted. His mind whirled in his panic. He formulated a hasty plan, to steal back upstairs, and-

            "HARRY!"

            He paused, breathing hard. His brows furrowed in concentration.

            "Harry Potter?" The voice called again.

            Harry's heart pounded in his chest. "Who are you?" he shouted back hoarsely.

            "It's me! Kingsley Shacklebolt!"  
            Harry sighed in relief, but remained rooted to the spot. He kept his wands out, one pointed up the stairs and the other in the direction of the man's voice. "Who's that with you?"

            "Tonks!"

            "Wotcher, Harry!" came a familiar female voice.

            Harry's heart raced. "How do I know it's you? I mean, _ really_ you!"

            There was a moment's pause. "Well, I _already said _Wotcher," the woman exclaimed, sounding discouraged. "That's my tagline."

            It did sound like Nymphadora Tonks.

            "Wait… I've got it…" the man called. "How's this: _Maria Edgecomb is a nasty little sneak_." He pronounced each word plainly and loudly. "Was that the little brat's name? Mary, maybe?"

            Harry laughed in spite of himself. He slowly stepped out from his hiding place and into the room. "It's Marietta," he said out loud. "But I got the idea."

            "Marietta!" the tall black man exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "That's it!"

            "Where is everyone, Shacklebolt?" Harry asked curtly.

            The Auror nodded understandingly. "All safely evacuated. We've regained control of the village. We got here as soon as we could, and chased the Deatheaters off as quickly as we could. This was one of the last places we got to. Where's the girl?"

            Harry blinked uncomprehendingly. He had been so caught up in the moment that he had forgotten all about Pansy. "I got her safely out of here through a Floo Network upstairs," he answered, jerking his thumb behind him. "She should be back at Hogwarts now."

            Shacklebolt nodded.

            "Good work, Harry," Tonks said, sounding impressed.

            Shacklbolt. "We'd better have a look upstairs. We're pretty sure the area is clear, but the intelligence says Bellatrix Lestrange was around this building. We'd better make sure," he said. He did not looked pleased at the prospect.

            Harry's stomach plummeted.

            "Yes, I think you're right," Tonks said morosely. "Let's have a look-see, shall we?"

            Harry felt the energy draining out of his limbs. "Yeah… she was here-"

            Another Auror appeared suddenly in his line of vision, standing in the open front of the establishment. "Shacklebolt! Come quickly!"

            Harry recognized the man, now gesturing frantically with his right arm, as Dawlish, another Auror from the Ministry. Harry had a pretty good idea what he was so excited about. He followed the Aurors out the front of the building, and – sure enough – around to the side, into the narrow alleyway.

            "Blimey…" Shacklebolt breathed.

            In the middle of the alley lay two bodies; one breathing faintly, the other clearly not. The packed snow over the cold ground had turned into a swirling mush of crimson and pink. The area was littered with scraps of wood and debris from the wall. Harry could not tear his attention from the lifeless, surprised eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange.

            "I reckon one of 'em, likely her, came through that new picture window up there," Dawlish was saying, indicating the hole in the wall. And then, somebody must have zapped her with something powerful… I say, look at that cut on her head!"

            Harry's stomach lurched powerfully, and before he knew it, he was on his knees, combining his lunch with the incarnadine slush. Strong arms pulled him from the ground, and he was dimly aware of being carried inside. Minutes passed, and he found himself sitting in a chair inside the cold pub. A loud clunk drew his attention, and looked up to see that a flagon of butterbeer had been set before him.

            "I don't think Rosie will mind," Shacklebolt said quietly. "Drink up, it'll make you feel better."

            Harry gazed nauseously as the flagon but did not touch it.

            Mercifully, the Auror did not press the issue. "Harry," he whispered urgently. "Listen to me. I need you to be totally honest with me."

            Harry nodded weakly but said nothing.

            "Harry, did you kill Bellatrix Lestrange?"

            Harry glanced at the other man, but his eyes were not focusing properly.

            "Harry, did you-"      

            "Yeah, yeah I did," Harry cut him off. He felt he would be sick again.

            Shacklebolt gave a low whistle. "Wow," he breathed.

            Harry wanted to tell him to shut up and go away. He wanted to tell him that it was nothing to be proud of, that it felt perfectly horrible. The words did not come to him, so he opted instead to sag against the chair.

            "Harry, listen to me," the man went on in a very pressing voice. "If anyone else asks you, it is imperative that you lie to them. Okay? You did not kill her. You simply put her through the wall with some sort of-"

            "Concussive Jinx," Harry supplied.

            "Precisely. If anyone asks, that's all you did. And then you watched as I ran down the alleyway and killed Bellatrix Lestrange, and stunned her counterpart. You got all of that?"  
            Harry was feeling a little better. "Yeah…"

            "Good. Now, you need to get back to school, okay? As quickly as possible. Go straight to Dumbledore and tell him _everything_, including this conversation. Tell no one else!" Shacklebolt instructed him.

            "Okay…"

            "Do I need to help you the fireplace upstairs?"

            "No," Harry replied. "I can… Apparate. I'll go to the outside gates of Hogwarts and walk in from there. Is anybody watching?"

            Shacklebolt looked around. "No, you're clear. Get out of here."

            Harry straightened himself up in the seat, and concentrated on the task at hand. Shortly later, he collapsed on the ground in front of the great Gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Once again, he had forgotten to align his body into a standing position, but he did not care. He merely sat on the rough, gravel road and cried, heedless of the stone boars watching over him. He was not sure how long he had been there, but when his wits returned to him, he was shivering violently from the cold. He regained his feet, and marched hurriedly to the entrance to the great castle. He marveled at the strength left in his limbs; recrudescent energy flowed though his veins. He was not happy, but he felt a grim determination in his actions, and from that he drew strength.

            He entered the castle doors and was immediately accosted by Professor McGonagall. She looked somewhat frazzled, her hair thrown askew, her eyes narrowed and dangerous. He suspected that she had gotten into the fray back in Hogsmeade.

            "Harry!" she practically screamed. "Thank goodness! We feared the worst…"

            "I need to see Dumbledore," he said quietly but plainly.

            "He's rather busy with important tasks right now-"

            "_This_ is important," Harry breathed, eyeing her significantly.

            She was taken aback for a moment, but then nodded. "Come with me." She led him to Dumbledore's office, and personally escorted him through the password-encoded entrance and up the stairs. They paused at the threshold to his office.

            The Headmaster was not alone, which Harry found hardly surprising. He was engaged in low conversations with Professors Nemo, Flitwick and Snape. The last member of the party Harry recognized at once – Remus Lupin. The four men were all on their feet, crowded around the desk where Dumbledore sat. Behind them, Fawkes the Phoenix sat in taciturn observance. The walls were littered with dozens of paintings – the predecessors to the current Headmaster at the school. All were watching the proceedings with great interest.

            "Headmaster," McGonagall called out.

            The five men ceased their discussion at once, and turned in their direction.

            "Harry," the old man said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."

            Professor McGonagall turned and left the room without a further word.

            Harry nodded seriously, and headed over to the desk at which they were all congregated. "I have something to tell you, sir," he said, his voice coming out stronger than he would have anticipated.

            Dumbledore immediately conjured a comfy chair for Harry directly in front of the desk.

            Harry plopped into the seat, and chose his words carefully. "What I have to say is not for general knowledge…" He cast a dirty look at Snape.

            Dumbledore frowned. "Harry, Professor Snape is a trusted confidant of mine, in professional matters as in all others."

            Harry continued to glare at his former instructor. "That may be," he said after a moment. "But I cannot… will not say this in front of him." HE thought about offering to leave, and take his story with him, but held his tongue.

            The Headmaster frowned more severely. "Professor Snape, if you would not mind…" Dumbledore looked at his Potions Master with a delicate expression.

            Snape scowled at Harry. "Of course…" he hissed. "I have much to attend to, anyway."

            Harry listened to Snape's footsteps as they carried him out of the room. After he had gone, he locked his eyes on Dumbledore's expectantly. The other men present leaned in.

            "Mr.  Potter, I have already spoken with Mr. Weasley and Mz. Parkinson at length. You will be pleased to know that they all made it safely back to the school," Dumbledore told him. "She spoke rather highly of your actions, but your housemate was not as charitable."

            Harry nodded understandingly. "No doubt."

            "As such, I suppose you can start with the moment you shoved Mz. Parkinson into the Floo network."

            Harry readjusted himself in the chair. He gauged the faces of his observers; Nemo and Flitwick watching with curiosity, Lupin's face lined with concern, and Dumbledore giving him the usual poker face. "Well, the official version goes like this: She ranted at me for a few minutes-"

            "You mean Bellatrix Lestrange?" Nemo asked suddenly.

            "Yeah, her," Harry said heavily. "She ranted at me for a few minutes, and then she performed the Killing Curse."  
            Lupin gasped, and Nemo's eyes widened. Dumbledore remained as impassive as ever.

            "So, I dropped to the ground. She must have been close to hitting me, because it gave me a nasty nosebleed. Anyway, I pulled out my wand – my second wand, that is, the one she didn't expect me to be carrying -- and hit her with a concussive curse, which put her through the outside wall of the building. I… picked up the two wands she had dropped, one of mine and the other Pansy's, and then…" Harry stopped, chuckling. "Like a fool, I ran over to hole in the wall to see what had happened to her. And then Kingsley Shacklebolt came charging down the alleyway, and hit her with the Killing Curse, and stunned her partner."

            "I see," Dumbledore said gravely. "Which is reasonable."

            "Yeah? Isn't he going to be in trouble for using the Unforgivable Curse? I mean, haven't we just put his neck on the line, instead of…"

            Nemo shook his head. "Since the reappearance of the You-Know-Who, the Minister authorized the use of the Unforgivables, in a limited context, for the Aurors. I think a one-on-one battle with the most feared of Deatheaters would qualify."

            Harry began to understand.

            "How does the unofficial version go, Harry?" Lupin spoke up, his voice thick with emotion. "What actually happened?"

            Harry's face soured. "After I picked up the wands, I was sitting there, trying to think of what to do next, when she came flying back into the room through the same hole. She fired another Killing curse at me, which I dodged, and then… I fired back, and she… didn't dodge it. I-I didn't mean to… I don't know why I did it, really. I was pretty angry, of course, about…" Harry swallowed. "about Sirius, and I knew that I wouldn't get away with a stunner or a concussive jinx, so I… God, I didn't even think about. It just… came out of my mouth."

            Flitwick squeaked. Lupin and Nemo, who had been leaning in intently, stood back up, and exchanged a look.

            "Her eyes were so big…" Harry said faintly. "And she had, she had a scar… just like mine. But it wasn't a scar, it was a cut. She was bleeding so much…"

            "Go on, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly.

            Harry recovered his wits at the sound of the older man's voice. He shook his head, and did as requested. "Well, at this point, I did go have a look through the hole, and nearly got killed again, this time by her partner, who was waiting in the wings. I went over to another window and stunned him. Then I went downstairs, to help the others get out of there, and I found Shacklebolt and Tonks, and Dawlish… and we all went to look at the… body. And she… was just lying there, still st-staring up. At what? I don't know… And there was blood… everywhere…" He dropped his face into his laps, rubbing his eyes until they hurt. "I think… Shacklebolt took me back inside, and he told me I was wrong, you know? He told me what I actually saw, the part where… _he _killed her. And then he told me to come home, and here I am."

            The men in the room exchanged stern glances.

            "I killed her." Harry said quietly.

            "Harry, you have been through a _terrible_ ordeal," Lupin was saying. "And-"

            Harry laughed out loud. "I killed her," he repeated, listening to the sound of his own words. He kept laughing. "And I'm not sorry I did."

            The silence that followed this pronouncement was grave, but Harry coated over it with his laughter.

            "She killed Sirius. Not because she had to, either… because she wanted to. Just for fun. It was…" He was giggling now, and could not seem to stop. "It was fun for her. So I… I killed her. I am a… killer."

            He looked up at the ashen face of Anton Nemo, then at the concerned look on Dumbledore's face, and then back to Nemo. He was still laughing, but he was no longer sure why. "You did it, professor! I graduated! I'm a killer now! Just like you always wanted…" His laughter faded, but he still convulsed physically with each new word. "I… am… a killer," he said. "Just… like… _him._"

            Harry buried his face in his hands, and bawled.


	9. Epilogue

            Epilogue

            The sky against the window was a pervasive grey. Somewhere, out in the dense forest surrounding the building, the sun was reluctantly rising, shaking off the curtain of the long night, and trying to pierce the thick cloud cover with its bright rays. Some days are harder than others.

            Harry Potter, only son of Lily and James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the slayer of the Basilisk, Triwizard Champion, the youngest person to make the Gryffindor Quidditch Team in over a hundred years, and the One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, lay awake on his narrow cot. He was a quiet young man; seventeen years old by the calendar, but with a lifetime of concern in his green eyes. He had grown up tall and strong -- had begun to fill out at last, giving up his time-honored skeletal frame for toned muscles.

            He often lay in bed in the mornings without sleeping; opting instead to stare up at the ceiling with laconic patience until the sun rose and the day began. He was not an early riser by nature, but of late the realm of dreams held too many terrors, and he was comfortable with silence. So, he lay there in perfect peace, listening to the old house creak around him. Soon, he knew that Mrs. Weasley would be up, making breakfast for her large family and her guests. That moment was still half an hour off, he figured, gauging by the dim color of the early morning sky.

            In the bed next to him, Ronald Weasley snorted loudly, stirred by an unseen hand. "That _tickles, _Herm," he muttered, pulling up the bright orange blanket to his chin and rolling over on his right shoulder. Within seconds, the boy's breathing evened out, and Harry knew he was fast asleep again. Harry had had plenty of experience in listening to his oldest friend sleep over the years.

            Hands behind his head, Harry continued to regard the ceiling, which was also a bright shade of orange. It was late summer, and within a week they would both return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for their seventh and final year. It was a startling realization to the taciturn youth. His first year at the school seemed like a different lifetime, so far in the past that he had trouble remembering what preceded it. It was as if his entire life hinged upon that castle, and he could only guess at what would follow it.

            Or, more accurately, he could only wonder _if_ anything would follow it. It had been a little year since the time that Albus Dumbledore had revealed his fate to him – his young life must include, or end in, murder. Somewhere, hopefully far from the run-down place called the Burrow, Lord Voldemort waited. Harry would meet him again someday, and only one of them would survive the encounter. It was a grim reality, beyond any doubt, but one that he had grown accustomed to. One can used to anything, after all, if given enough time.

            He still dreamed about them, he knew. There were some six billion souls on the planet, but he had personally removed five of them. He had not wanted to, in any of the cases; in fact, he had only done so to preserve his life or the life of others. There had been Edmund Gloucester, a Deatheater, who pulled his wand on Harry in a dark alleyway. Harry left his body in the dumpster. There had been the Nigellus brothers, Dorian and Jacob, with Dorian's wife Calliope – all Deatheaters. They tried to ambush Harry in a convenience store, killing the clerk in the progress. Harry laid them out neatly on the sidewalk in front of the store.

            Every time the young man was forced to kill, it left him in a state for days afterward. The first time had been during his last school year, right before Christmas. A Deatheater attack of Hogsmeade left the village in the grips of terror, and Harry took the life of Bellatrix Lestrange. He no longer remembered most of that day. The details of his return to the school, the conversations he had afterward, where he slept that night – he recalled none of it. In his mind was only a large, blank gap. The same was true of the weeks that followed. He was told that he was insensate for large portions of the time, crying and screaming until spent. He thought he was better off without those memories.

            Even with the peculiar gap in his memory, he knew what it was that tormented him those long weeks. He saw it every night when he closed his eyes; the same hypnagogic terror – two wide, vacant eyes and a terrible lightning-shaped gash. He still avoided mirrors religiously for that very reason – every time he looked in one all he saw was two eyes and a lightning bolt. It was the very symbol of his misery.

            He was told that he recovered from the ordeal, at length. In a sense, it was true – he left the Hospital Wing, began eating regularly, and even returned to classes eventually. The world that he confronted upon his return was not the one he had left. Some clever scapegrace had exchanged the old reality for a newer, darker one while he slept. There was no humor in the world anymore. There was no peace, no beauty, no poetry. The sun showed its face rarely, and when it did he was sure it mocked him. He knew that he had not gotten better at all. In truth, at the moment when Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes opened in surprise and that horrible lightning bolt became affixed to her head, a large part of him had died, and it was not coming back. He carried death around inside of him wherever he went. One does not recover from death. One learns to accept that they are dead, and gets on with their life.

            The next time had been easier to deal with, and the third easier than that. They were still traumatic. It is a difficult thing to accept that one had to kill. However, one can rationalize that they merely did what they had to in a tough situation. It is a far more onerous task to bend one's mind around the fact that they have killed, and that they will have to do it again. Harry knew that someday he would have to kill again. He knew that it was for the best, knew that Voldemort had to die. It was nonetheless a daunting proposition.

            Kingsley Shacklebolt was lauded as a hero for taking down Lestrange, who cast a shadow of terror almost as far as her feared master. Kingsley Shacklebolt was given a medal for his heroic, bold and fictitious action. Kingsley Shacklebolt was wearing that medal when he was slain in battle. Kingsley Shacklebolt's medal did not stop the green bolt that took Kingsley Shacklebolt's life.

            Harry would later learn that the Deatheater attack on Hogsmeade was not a random act of terror. The Dark Lord's minions were not there to kill or even harass the denizens of the village. They had been sent for a single purpose – to shuffle Harry Potter loose from the mortal coil. Ironically, when Bellatrix Lestrange lost her duel with Harry, she inflicted the most serious wound he had ever suffered. Although the villainous Deatheaters had been sent to kill but one person (at which they failed), they succeeded in incidentally taking the lives of four. Mandy Brocklehurst, Blaise Zabini, and two French tourists perished when Madame Puddifoot's café succumbed to too many malevolent spells and collapsed. Neville Longbottom had been cornered by a pair of Deatheaters who were sure he knew where Harry was. They roughed him up severely in the interrogation, and were about to employ the Cruciatus Curse when the Ministry Aurors arrived. All things considered, the day could have gone far worse for them.

            Harry heard a rumble of pots and pans from downstairs, signifying that Mrs. Weasley was preparing breakfast. He glanced at the window, and was surprised to see that it had grown visibly lighter outside. He waited a few more minutes, and then nudged his mate in the side. "Come on, Ron. Breakfast will be ready soon."

            "Oh yeah?" Ron mumbled drowsily. "Is that so? _Wingardium__ Leviosa. Win-GAR-dium Levi-O-sa."_

            Shaking his head, Harry got to his feet and left Ron to sleep in peace. He dressed silently, threw on some house slippers, and headed downstairs. He was halfway there when the smell of coffee and bacon wafted into his nostrils. He was not surprised to find that Mrs. Weasley was alone in the kitchen.

            "Good morning, Harry," she said pleasantly. She waved her wand in the direction of the frying pan, which dutifully bounced in place, flipping the bacon over neatly. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

            Harry shook his head, glancing around the kitchen. "Is there any orange juice?"

            Mrs. Weasley frowned, her careworn face blushing slightly. "No, I'm afraid not… Arthur hasn't been paid yet this-"

            "No, that's fine," Harry said quickly, embarrassed. "Some coffee would be wonderful." He stepped over to the churning pot and poured half a glass into his favorite mug, a stout black one with a small chip in the handle. He looked around for some cream, but did not see any. Too embarrassed to ask for any, he sipped his coffee black.

            "Were not sleeping well again, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked. She did not look at him, focusing on the bread she was toasting with her wand.

            "No, I slept fine," Harry said defensively. "Really."

            "Mmm-hmm. Anyway, the Daily Prophet is on the table if you want to have a look at it," she said loudly. "I'll have breakfast ready shortly."

            Harry glanced at the table in disdain, safely behind the matriarch's back. He did not read The Daily Prophet. The two of them had gotten along reasonably well for several years, but during his fifth year they had a very up and down relationship. Harry had sworn the paper off after the gift he had received from the paper on his birthday. It was on that occasion that The Daily Prophet reported that Professor Anton Nemo had been killed in a duel with the Dark Lord. In a time that saw the ranks of Voldemort swelling to alarming numbers, it was a badge of honor to be dispatched by the Dark Lord directly. Harry had little doubt that his former professor had foolishly challenged Voldemort in a battle. His former mentor and friend had been prone to quixotic heroics. Harry never had the chance to say good-bye.

            "No thanks," Harry said softly. "I think I'll just go have a seat on the porch."

            "Oh," Mrs. Weasley remarked, her voice tinged with concern. "Okay, then."

            Harry took his mug out the nearest exit, and had a sit on the top of the stairs that lead to a small wooden porch. It was getting lighter outside, but the skies were still a dark hue of grey, promising another dreary, overcast day. A cool, favonian breeze rustled the leaves as it swept through the trees, but otherwise the world was silent, peaceful. Harry found that he was grateful to be alone at that moment. He raised the coffee mug to his lips and took a hesitant drink, grimacing at the flavor.

            To his left he heard the telltale snap of twigs on the ground. He looked over to see Fred and George Weasley hurrying across the ground, keeping as low to the ground as possible. They came to a stop at the base of the stairs leading to the porch.

            "Hey there, mate," George whispered.

            "You're up early," Fred observed.

            "You're out late," Harry returned.

            They were wearing solid black robes, long trench coats, and sturdy shoes – a clear sign that they had been traveling in the recent dark.

            "Yeah," George breathed.  He patted the bulging pocket of his coat in emphasis. "We had to meet Mundungus to get a shipment of – er…."

            "Perhaps it's best if we didn't go into that," Fred said reasonably.

            Harry shrugged in response. "Your mother's making breakfast in the kitchen," he informed them.

            "Yeah?" Fred remarked quietly, as he had George instinctively sunk lower to the ground. "Is it that late already?"

            Harry nodded.

            The Twins exchanged a look.

            "To the window," George declared.

            "We'll see you at breakfast, Harry," Fred whispered. "You know, after we _get up_¸ and head downstairs." His voice made it clear that Harry was not to mention this meeting to the Weasley mother.

            Harry said nothing, but simply sipped his bitter coffee and watched the Twins melt back into the grey shadows. There was a time when that conversation would have gone far differently. Fred and George had once regarded him almost as The Third of Three. They would have told him exactly what they had gone out for, how much it had cost them, and what nefarious plot they had in mind for it. They certainly would not have reminded him to keep his mouth shut. It all went back to that ridiculous contest the previous year.

            Harry had been in charge of recording the progress of the contestants at Hogwarts. However, right at the culmination of the month-long window of pranking, he was knocked out of commission by the events in Hogsmeade. Harry's team had a sizable lead at the time, more than anyone could hope to overcome. Harry's stay in the Hospital Wing and subsequent melancholy signaled his forfeit of the contest. As such, the Creevey Brothers were awarded a trophy that neither wanted nor deserved. The Twins would never admit to any ill will over the ordeal, but he knew that they had treated him differently since. Under the surface, they resented him, he knew, even though they knew consciously that he was not to blame. It was one more lamentable situation that Harry could never mend.

            The kitchen door swung open, the floorboards creaked behind him, and Harry was surprised to realize that he was no longer alone. Again. "I'll be right there, Mrs. Weasley," he said stiffly, not bothering to turn around.

            "Mrs. Weasley? I always thought of myself as just Ginny'," a young voice laughed.

            Harry blinked in surprise to see Ginny Weasley standing behind him. She held a coffee mug in her hand and a sleepy look in her eyes.

            "Oh, hey," Harry said.

            "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked, gesturing to the ground beside him.

            "Yeah, no problem," he answered.

            She sat down and put the coffee mug to her lips. "I can't wait until Dad gets paid again," she muttered. "This stuff is terrible without a little milk."

            Harry held his silence, staring at the dark trees impassively.

            "You're up early," she went on.

            He could feel her eyes on his face. He did not turn to look at her. "So are you."

            "Earlier than I had wanted," she giggled. "Ron came into the room and started snuggling up to Hermione, so I beat a hasty retreat."

            Harry nodded solemnly. "Sounds reasonable."

            Ginny paused a moment before going on, likely looking at him again. "And here I thought they were broken up." She laughed a little as she said it – it was getting to be a joke. Ron and Hermione had broken up and gotten back together on an almost monthly basis since they first hooked up. The first time it happened, shortly after Hogsmeade, everyone was surprised. With each progressive split, the next reunion loomed ever closer. It seemed that the two of them were dedicated to be breaking up (and making up) for some time to come. 

            "I guess not."

            "Harry-" Ginny started, but stopped herself just as quickly. She took another sip of her coffee and then started again. "Harry, if you ever want to talk, I-"

            "I know," Harry cut in, more sharply than he had intended. "Thank you. I-I appreciate it."

            "Yeah," Ginny said quietly. "Sure."

            They sat on the edge of the porch, but neither spoke. The wind had picked up a little bit, and leaves were now trailing along the ground in its path. The sky promised no sun.

            "I got a package from Colin yesterday," Ginny said suddenly, her face brightening.

            "Oh?" Harry remarked.

            "Yeah. He's doing really well," she went on, oblivious to his desire for peace. Ginny had resolved in her mind that the only way to cure Harry of his "funk" was to fill as much time as possible with cheerful conversation. She was doing her best to help, he knew. All of his friends were. They were going out of their minds trying to figure out how they could make things better, but he was beyond that. He watched them, day in and day out, trying to cheer him up. He watched as their bright smiles turned to tears of frustration. A part of him wanted to reach out to them, to tell that they could save themselves the trouble and give up the effort. One does not recover from death.

             "He's apparently learning a lot. He sent me this neat little rock -- it's so pretty. I forgot what the name of it was!"

            Harry was painfully aware that Dennis and Colin Creevey were spending their summer in Fiji. There were some powerful magical forces at work in the volcanic regions of the Island chain, and their parents felt it would be an educational experience for the crowned pranksters.

            "It was all purple and sparkly-"

            "Geode."

            "Huh?"  
            "It's called a geode," Harry told her.

            "Yeah, that's it!" Ginny went on. "Remind me, and I'll show it to you later. It's so pretty."

            It was further obvious that Colin Creevey had finally figured out what everyone else had known for years – that he was hopelessly stuck on Ginny. She played dumb, as if she could not see it, either. Harry found his patience had run out. "Ginny, why don't you just kiss Colin?"

            "Huh?" Ginny exclaimed, her voice painfully loud.

            "Ginny, you're mad about the guy," Harry said morosely. "And he's mad about you. We all know."

            "Oh…" Ginny pondered it for a moment. "You know what? I think I will. On the Hogwarts Express, as soon as I see him. It'll startle him something fierce, but I don't think he'll mind." She paused. "It's a good thing you're here."

            Harry turned his head to look at her for the first time in their conversation. It was indeed fortunate that he was there – somebody had to dedicate their life to stopping the Dark Lord. "Yeah," he said dully.

            "Yeah!" She said, mistaking his tone for a question. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have made up my mind about Colin. It was just right there, and I… I guess we both knew it, but we wouldn't see it until you said something."

            Harry said nothing.

            "That must have been what it was like when you told Hermione to talk to Ron," Ginny observed.

            Harry cast his memory back to that night. It had been a Saturday, the day of the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match – the day it had all began. "Yeah," he remarked. "Something like it."

            From within the kitchen the sounds had been building over the last few minutes, culminating in that moment. A pair of loud thuds announced that Fred and George had decided to "wake up" and go down for breakfast. Mrs. Weasley apparently was not fooled. "Just where have you two been?" was the first of a long tirade of angry phrases which commenced at that moment.

            "I gotta go watch this. I love it when she takes the mickey out of them!" Ginny giggled, grabbing her coffee and standing up. She paused a moment. "Are you coming, Harry?"

            Harry shook his head. "Go on in. I'll be in there in a minute."

            Ginny bowed her head, looking a little disappointed. She left, her jubilant mood only slightly hampered by his indifference.

            Harry tasted his coffee again, and was again disappointed by the flavor of the rapidly-cooling beverage. His thoughts were whirling around that Saturday night, so long ago. He tried not to think about her very often, but it was an exercise in futility. Every time he closed his eyes, as he did then, he saw her. He watched her soft eyes welling with emotion, and then her lips with quaver, and slowly – sweetly – twist into a smile. He could taste her scent on the air sometimes, when the air was still enough and his mind remembered properly. He saw himself wrap her up in a bear hug, pulling him close to her chest and not letting go until he had had his fill. She would nuzzle against his neck, stroking his check with her hands. And then he would stoop a couple of inches, and they would press their lips together, drawn slowly into a world of mesmerizing heat.

            He kept his eyes closed, reveling in the moment.

            It had been seven months since Hogsmeade. To that day, his most recent words to her had been "All you have to do is step into the flames, and say the word Hogwarts'. Okay?". It seemed a poor way to end things. She had her say, of course. His first memory after Hogsmeade was from inside the Hospital Wing, holding a note in his hands and staring at the words in silence. He did not know when it had arrived, but he knew that he had read it many times by that point. He could stare at the brief note for hours on end, as if by absorbing the words he might summon her to him. "Good-bye." That was all it said, that and nothing else. It was not addressed nor signed, not that he would need any clues to recognize the handwriting.

            He would see her in the Great Hall over meals, or in passing in the stone corridors of that cold castle, and he would stare at her unabashedly for minutes at a time. She never so much as looked back at him, but she knew he was there, and that was enough sometimes. Usually it was not, and he passed long hours in silence and alone, refusing to let out the tears that threatened to break over the dam at any moment but never did.

            One day he saw her, standing in front of Snape's classroom, hanging on Draco's shoulder. Still she did not meet his gaze. He comported himself well at the moment, but when he returned to the privacy of the common room, a recliner paid dearly for the transgression. He was angered and saddened beyond words, but did not despair. Draco Malfoy, the prince of a small estate, could prove his pureblood legacy as far back as anyone. He would never have to work a day in his life if he did not choose to. He was popular and proud. But he would never understand her. He would not know what it meant when she clicked her tongue idly at the back of her throat, or pulled her hair behind her ear in a jerking moment. If she did not wish, he would never know how much she despised him. So long as she hated, Harry could hope.

            It had been confirmed to him that Adolphus and Arana Parkinson were Deatheaters. This was a bitter moment for Harry as well, since she had told him the opposite. It might have been a petty deception at the moment when issued, but the consequences could prove disastrous, in light of the many things he had shared with her. In a way, this thought gave him the most hope of all. Every Deatheater he had encountered had been surprised by his second wand – he saw it, pristine and unmistakable, on their faces before they died.

            The furor in the kitchen reached another level as Mrs. Weasley flung a copper pan in the direction of George. With the indignant clang of metal ringing in his ears, Harry stood up and stiffly descended the stairs. He had reason to suspect that breakfast would not be served for a few minutes yet. He ambled slowly over the soft ground, feeling the wind play across the exposed skin of his neck and shoulders, like the memory of a lost lover. He wandered to the edge of a small clearing and paused.

            He would fight Lord Voldemort, he knew. Perhaps it was a touch of the Inner Eye, or simply the escalation of the ongoing war, but he was reasonably sure it would be within the next year. Anton had done his best to prepare the young wizard, and others would rise to the task after his passing. Harry knew that he would be ready when the time came. It was impossible to know if he would survive. The truth was that he might be enjoying his last summer at the Burrow, and his last summer anywhere. He did not welcome death, but he did not flinch at it, either.

            Once his mortal struggle was decided, Harry knew what he would do next. He had suffered long, lonely nights and dismal days in the last seven months, but the memory lingered of a force that could take it all away. His plans started with overturning social convention and finished with the sweetest reward imaginable. He had made a promise.

            Stooping gently, Harry bent over to admire a flower at his feet. It was a marvel to behold, a dash of proud color in a forbidding landscape. Not many flowers bloomed in that inhospitable clime. The wide petals were a soft white with folded blue edges and long lashes of blue running down into the golden heart of the flower. He touched it gently with his fingertips, a smile creeping onto his lips. He thought for a moment to pluck it, take it with him. But instead he let it be to grow alone in the emptiness of the small clearing.

            He straightened up, and glanced in the direction of the Burrow. He would need to go inside soon, he knew, but he tarried a moment, content to observe the small clearing. Up in the sky, he could see the tenacious clouds thinning, breaking up. Perhaps the sun would come out that day after all.

A/N: Uh… The End.  I do hope you enjoyed it, gentle reader. If you did, you can reward me in two possible ways: firstly, with long, detailed reviews, or by reading my other full-length fic – The Dark Days Saga. I must warn you, it's not nearly as fluffy as this one was.


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